


Fan the Flame

by Avaaricious



Series: Meet-Ugly [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky is a cat owner, Bucky swears a lot, Date Night, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Meetings, M/M, Meet the Co-workers, Meet the Family, Modern Day Bucky Barnes, PTSD RECOVERY, Paparazzi, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Ranger Panties FTW, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Shrunkyclunks, Social Media, Soldier Bucky Barnes, The opposite of meet-cute, Tinder fic, Tony is a troll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 216,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaaricious/pseuds/Avaaricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA the "I thought you were a dude-bro and meant to swipe left on Tinder but I slipped. We matched and now I'm stuck talking to you" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fan The Flame

**Author's Note:**

> The Tinder fic that nooobody asked for! Except for Dee, because I got the idea for this while talking to her. This is for you, Dee. For your help and general awesomeness <3 
> 
> Also this would never be possible without the wonderful ministrations of Sarah. You are my hero. Thank you so much.

 

 

Bucky sits in his local Starbucks, sipping on his latte and flipping through his phone. He's got time to kill until his students get out of school and meet him at the park for what will prove to be a rousing game of baseball.

 

With the advent of the warmer weather, he can move the activities of the children that attend his youth outreach program out of the local school gym and into the sunshine. He always sees a marked change in attitude and behaviour in the outdoors, which is nice.

 

But that's not for an hour, and Bucky is early. He needs something to occupy his time.

 

Tinder generally turns out to be either hilarious or horrifying, and in some very special cases, both at the same time.

 

Bucky swipes through quite a few profiles, discarding many on the first image alone. Of those he looks into, there are some baseline standard things he wants and doesn't want.

 

If the photos are unclear or pixelated and he can't make out a general face, swipe left.

 

If there is more than one shirtless mirror, gratuitous cleavage, upside-down bed or gym selfie, swipe left.

 

Due to Bucky's dad's tenuous relationship with alcohol leaving him with distinct feelings about excessive drinking, if most photos include alcohol of some kind, swipe left.

 

If the profile is left blank, swipe left.

 

If the profile is extremely short, or is just an attempt at a comedic routine without giving any information about the subject, swipe left.

 

If there's an excess of tattoos, especially on the neck or face, swipe left.

 

If they're flipping off the camera, swipe left.

 

Photos of cars, swipe left.

 

Allowing for a random typo, if the spelling and grammar are too bad, swipe left.

 

If there's enough fake tan to turn hands visibly orange, for the love of all that is holy, swipe fucking _left_.

 

He's looking to find at the best, a boyfriend or girlfriend, at the worst, someone new to maybe hang out with. This leaves him weeding out a lot of people most of the time. He's learnt to pick out the purely hook up profiles pretty quickly and tends to tap out if people get overly familiar too quickly after they've matched. It's quite an arduous process, but he expected as much, and is content to just keep plugging away.

 

Bucky opened his Tinder account as a bit of a lark. He'd like to meet someone, but feels too old for the club scene. Bars tend to be a bit of a waste of time when you don't drink all that much. His workplace is small, and he's a big believer in not shitting where you eat, which is also one of the reasons he never got together with any of his fellow soldiers during his time in the army.

 

He thinks he's put together a pretty decent profile:

 

_James, 31_

_5'11". Born and bred in Brooklyn, now back after a stint in the Army. I work with disadvantaged kids now, which is less hard and more rewarding than you might think._

_Mornings don't start until after the sun comes up. Animals are usually more compassionate than people. Cat and dog lover, but I only own the former. Bilingual. (Conversational Russian. Also curse words)_

_Things that mean the world to me: Coffee, Baseball, family and friends. (Not in that order. Probably)_

_I'm athletic but don't live at the gym. I like a good party but I don't really drink. I love food but I don't like making it._

_Would like to find someone who compliments me at best, friends as a middle point, or at the very least, some horror stories to share with friends._

He doesn't have a gym selfie on there, but there is a photo of him playing Ultimate Disc in the park with some friends in a tank top. It's a pretty good photo and -- without being overly shallow -- shows him to be pretty fit.

 

There's an older photo of him in uniform from his deployment, feeding one of the stray dogs he found in Kabul. There's a snap of him with his calico kitten Babushka, who is one year old going on ninety-nine, and one from two winters ago in a knitted hat, cradling a cup of coffee. That was when he'd grown his hair out a little after the Army and it nearly touched his shoulders. Now it just grazes his jawline.

 

Tinder has proven very hit and miss for him. He's ended up on a few dates. Only a couple of people warranted more than one, but it just ended up either fizzling out, or established them more as friends. There's been a spectacular amount of one date wonders, each as either painfully awkward or lacking in chemistry as the last.

 

But, it's something. It's getting him out and meeting people when he probably wouldn't be, and that's better than nothing, he supposes.

 

He feels like he's going to get RSI in his fingers from the constant swiping left, though.

 

Bucky puts his phone flat on the table and sips his coffee, continuing to swipe, consoling himself that he's not _that_ picky.

 

Okay, he is, but there are things that'll get him through.

 

He's looking for someone he finds attractive. A great smile will get him to swipe right, as will a really gorgeous set of eyes.

 

He likes a variety of different body shapes in men and women, but does have a particular lean towards the more athletic, like him.

 

He's not ashamed to admit that a cute pet photo will automatically glean more consideration, too.

 

He goes for the profiles that range from open-hearted honesty, to cheeky but still giving out at least _some_ information on their subject.

 

Bucky's a fan of people with artistic hobbies, because he doesn't lean that way at all and has always been fascinated by them. So anyone who writes, or makes art, or plays a musical instrument piques his interest automatically.

 

All in all, he doesn't think he's asking for the world. And with the amount of people registered on the site in Brooklyn alone, he doesn't necessarily have to feel too bad about his tough screening process.

 

A little alert pops up then, with the familiar flame logo.

 

 _You have been Super Liked!_ , it proclaims. _Keep swiping to find out who._

 

So someone has _really_ liked his profile, then. If Bucky keeps swiping through, odds are he'll hit a thumbnail surrounded by blue, and he'll know who it is. It's the only time he finds out if someone's wanted to match with him ahead of time.

 

Bucky keeps flicking through images, discarding after only a few moments, until he sees the telltale edge of a blue profile making its way to the top of the pile.

 

It pops up and Bucky studies the photo of _Steve, 30_ critically. There's a silhouette of a guy, completely backlit by an orange, setting sun. It's a lovely photo, but he can see zero firm details about the person in it. If Bucky were looking at it without the Super Like, he might've swiped past purely on the principle that he can't see the person's face.

 

He always makes it a point to at least get past the first image and to the profile for a Super Like, though. It's only polite.

 

Clicking on the photo, Bucky is relieved to find there's at least some text.

 

_6'2". Back in Brooklyn after many years, and looking to make a connection. My job keeps me busy so I find it hard to get time to meet new people._

_Non-smoker, rare drinker (except for coffee), I stay fit where I can, but would rather spend time drawing than going to the gym. Sorry for the gym selfie though :-)_

_If you'd like to know more, please just ask!_

Bucky makes a non-committal sound. Not too much information in the profile, but it's passable.

 

He begins flicking through the photos, and _oh my._ There's the gym selfie. Bucky's not sure about what Steve says about rather doing other things than going to the gym, because the dude is _ripped_. And not in the scary steroid-bulging-veins way, more in the sculpted-like-a-classical-statue way. Steve's not shirtless, he's wearing a tight, sweat-soaked shirt and a pair of pretty tiny workout shorts. The image is cut from the chin down, so Bucky can't see a face, but he can see the clean lines of his arms as he holds the phone up, how the fabric molds to Steve's pectorals, the breadth of his shoulders tapering into a ridiculously narrow waist. It's enough to make Bucky's mouth a little dry.

 

The next image is of the man sitting astride a motorcycle. His long legs are encased in jeans, brown leather jacket over his shoulders, a helmet with a funky stylised wing painted on the side of it on his head. Bucky thinks he recognises the wing from an advertisement or something, but can't quite place it. That's not as important as how effortlessly cool the photo looks, however.

 

The fourth photo looks like it has been taken candidly. Steve is stretched out on a sofa, one arm dangling down as though he's asleep. Bucky takes a moment to admire Steve's body in jeans and a t shirt that rides up just slightly to show a pale strip of skin right across his lower stomach. What makes the photo amusing -- and frustrating, again -- is that a book is lying open over his face. The book is _War and Peace_. Bucky grunts. Is he really reading it, or is it just a fun photo where someone decided to stick a heavy book on his face while he slept? If Steve were actually reading Tolstoy, that would make him marginally more interesting.

 

The fifth photo gives Bucky pause, as it's Steve with a golden retriever mushed to his face, smiling. It's a bit blurry, obviously taken on the fly, but very cute. Due to the positioning of both the dog and Steve's hands holding said dog, however, he barely gets a look at the man's profile.

The final photo is of a pair of well-shaped hands on a sketchbook. It seems to be a crop of a larger photo, and the drawing itself seems to be of the Brooklyn Bridge, looking into the Financial District of Manhattan. It's an extremely good likeness, and Bucky is impressed.

 

It takes Bucky another good flip through the photos to fully comprehend the fact that he can't get a decent look at Steve's face in any photo. He frowns and sits back.

 

What's the deal with this dude not showing his face? Is he shy? Ugly? Famous? Under witness protection? Unfortunate adult acne?

 

Bucky's not sure. While the profile isn't the worst he's ever seen, it does leave a lot to the imagination. He's clearly built well, but without seeing a face, Bucky's a bit nonplussed. There are a few other nibbles there, but by and large, he doesn't think he's missing out on a whole lot if he swipes past Steve.

 

Bucky goes to take a sip of his drink, at the same time as making contact with the surface of his phone. A lone drip of coffee runs down his cup and splashes on the screen. Automatically, Bucky goes to wipe it off quickly and --

 

Shit.

 

He accidentally swiped right and matched with Steve.

 

Bucky wipes the liquid his screen off quickly and puts his coffee down. No matter, he can quickly unmatch himself before Steve even realises and--

 

_Steve has sent you a new message_

Well, fuck. Steve must be on Tinder right now.

 

Bucky sighs and glares at the alert, and grudgingly flicks to the message screen. Whatever he is, he's not a _total_ asshole. If the guy has already messaged him, he can at least engage. Preferably briefly. And then unmatch later.

 

Clicking on the link, Bucky opens his message.

 

_Steve: Hi, James! I was really hoping you would match with me!_

Bucky mulls over his prospects and decides on a response.

 

_James: Thanks for the super like, it's very flattering :-)_

His reply is immediate.

_Steve: No problems. I liked what you had to say, and you look great._

_Steve: Look like someone I would like to know better._

_Steve: It's not all about looks, but you_ do _look really nice._

_Steve: I'm trying to get out of this hole, it's not working._

Bucky lets out a surprised chuckle. Well, it was a bit dorky, and kind of cute. Maybe Steve isn't a meat head gymbro after all.

 

_James: No, it's okay. Dig up, stupid!_

_Steve: Wow, you're kind of a jerk :p_

_James: It's a Simpsons reference. Don't tell me you haven't seen it._

_Steve: Was it on recently?_

_James: Dude, the Simpsons has been on for 20 yrs. This was one of the earlier seasons._

_Steve: Oh. I'll have to try and see it._

_James: Didn't you watch it on tv when you were a kid?_

_Steve: My family didn't have a tv when I was growing up._

Bucky snorts derisively and continues typing unthinkingly.

_James: Did you live in the dark ages? What, were you poor or something?_

_Steve: Yes._

Bucky stops. Well, fuck, that kind of went somewhere bad super quick, and it's his fault. He tries to soften his words.

 

_James: I'm sorry, that was pretty rude of me. I didn't mean to insult._

_James: Do you have a tv now? I figure if you have a smartphone it's a good bet._

_Steve: I do._

_James: You don't have that much to catch up on. Focus on seasons 7-11. Nothing is as good as those._

_Steve: I'll be sure to write that down._

_Steve: on my papyrus._

_Steve: with my quill_

_Steve: by candlelight._

Bucky barks out a laugh. Clearly the muscles are hiding a mind that is deeply sarcastic, and that's something Bucky can relate to. Steve seems comfortable sassing Bucky already, Bucky automatically gives it straight back to him, safe polite responses be damned.

 

_James: Who's the jerk now, you punk??_

_Steve: haha, now we're even._

Bucky finds himself unwittingly smiling. He takes another swig of coffee, while Steve sends another message.

 

_Steve: So you have a kitten?_

_James: Yeah, a little calico. She's too sassy for her own good._

_James: That lab yours? Looks cute._

_Steve: I wish! Lucky belongs to a friend. I'm away for work a bit, and my schedule can be pretty sporadic... I wouldn't want to be an irresponsible pet owner. But I love animals._

_James: That's a shame. Pets are awesome. Sure, it's annoying when I wake up and Babushka's asleep on my face and I'm nearly suffocating... but she's good company otherwise._

_Steve: That sounds nice._

_Steve: The company part, not the suffocating part._

Bucky wonders what kind of job Steve has that is so erratic he can't keep a pet. Babushka drives him crazy some days, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

_James: So what did you say you did again?_

There's a pause before the answer comes through.

 

_Steve: I didn't. I work for the government? It can be pretty hectic._

Bucky chews on his bottom lip a little, intrigued.

 

_James: I'm guessing you're not a pencil pusher? Don't think desk jockeys have to be that buff :p_

 

He stops for a moment. Bucky meant to unmatch from Steve, not keep the conversation going, and getting borderline flirty. But he's starting to find him stimulating, not in the least because it seems the guy has a little more to him than being a slab of unthinking muscle. Bucky's done hot-but-dumb before; it gets tiresome.

 

_Steve: Sometimes I think a desk job would be a nice break, but I like what I do._

_Steve: You know about active, right? How long did you serve?_

_James: '08 to '14. Iraq and Afghanistan mostly, but also trained on bases in Dubai and Saudi Arabia. Spent a lot of time around sand. Not a fan._

_Steve: I know the feeling. Was in the Army before my current job._

Bucky's eyebrows go up, but he can't say he's fully surprised. The information is kind of welcome. As trite as it sounds, there's some things he's been through in his life that only other soldiers can even begin to comprehend.

 

_James: What regiment? Maybe we've actually met before :)_

There's a little pause before Steve answers.

 

_Steve: I don't think so, I feel like I definitely would've remembered you!_

_Steve: As to my record, I was in a Special Ops team? There's still a lot of information that is classified, and it does relate a little to my current job._

Classified Army and now government work? It's possible he works for an internal agency like the FBI or CIA. Maybe even an undercover field operative. It would explain an erratic work schedule and quite potentially why none of his photos show his face.

 

_James: Ahh, it's an 'If I told you, I'd have to kill you' scenario, right?_

_Steve: I'm sorry._

_James: if it makes you feel any better, I was with the 75 th, so most of my record is sealed, so we're even. _

There's a bit of a pause in the communication, and Bucky takes another sip of his coffee. With all the typing he's doing it's getting cold.

 

When he does get a reply, he's glad he's swallowed the coffee, otherwise he might've accidentally spat some out.

 

_Steve: ... You mean you got to wear those little Ranger panties? I've heard of these._

_James: First of all, they're SHORTS._

_James: Secondly, they're comfortable. I mean, seriously super fucking comfortable._

_James: Thirdly_

There is a long pause in which Bucky doesn't type anything. It is enough to prompt a response from Steve.

 

_Steve: Thirdly?_

_James: I don't have a thirdly, I just thought it'd sound better if I had three points instead of two._

_Steve: Haha_

_Steve: it feels like I won that one._

_James: Anyone ever told you you're a competitive son of a bitch?_

_Steve: It's been mentioned in passing, yes._

So help him, Bucky is starting to like him.

 

Casually looking at the time, Bucky sits up straight in his chair. It's nearly time to meet the kids. With mild surprise he realises he's been trading messages with Steve for half the time he's been waiting.

 

_James: Sorry to do this, but I've got to run to work. Playing baseball with kids is serious business._

_Steve: That actually sounds like great fun._

_James: Equal parts fun and hard work, actually :)_

_Steve: I've really enjoyed talking to you, James. Can I write you later?_

Bucky chuckles at the slightly endearing antiquated turn of phrase. He gives it a quick think, but the answer has been obvious for at least the last fifteen minutes.

 

_James: Yeah, sure. I'll let you know who wins._

_Steve: Yankees or bust! Dodgers are filthy traitors._

Bucky smiles as he closes the app, only to be distracted by a few familiar faces squished against the window of the coffee shop. Apparently his group has decided to meet him along the way instead of waiting at the school.

 

He gets up and pockets his phone, before throwing his empty coffee cup in the trash on the way out.

 

"All right, all right, no faces on the glass or you're cleaning it up," he grumbles. The kids just laugh at him, Felicia throwing a catcher's mitt at his face, which he grabs deftly. "Funny. Okay, march!" Bucky herds the kids forward on the sidewalk and promptly forgets about his messages with Steve.

 

***  
  
Steve doesn't forget about him, though. Later on in the evening, after Bucky's made some dinner and is kicking back watching tv, his phone chimes.

 

_Steve: So I found that episode of the Simpsons you were talking about? It was in season 5._

_Steve: It was pretty funny._

Bucky grins and puts down his plate on the couch next to him.

_James: The cat burglar one, right? I haven't seen it in years. But it's a good one._

_Steve: Do you have any other recommendations? Simpsons or otherwise?_

_James: TV? Movies? Gimme a frame of reference._

_Steve: All of the above. Sometimes I have heaps of free time, sometimes I have none at all. I tend to miss out on a lot of things due to that... I'd happily take suggestions on board._

_Steve: To narrow parameters slightly, I like drama, comedy, action -- but not necessarily war -- movies. With TV I generally stay away from reality shows, as they make me want to punch people. Other than that, the field is pretty open._

Bucky understands the subtle distinction between action and war movies. He loves _Die Hard_ but he couldn't sit through the opening sequence of _Saving Private Ryan_ even if you paid him. And you can forget about _American Sniper._

 

Some things just ping him in a bad way, even though he'd like to think, as far as circumstances allow, he's a moderately well-adjusted individual.

_James: Settle in, Steve. Got your quill and papyrus ready, or do you need to go find a candlestick first?_

 

_James: That is, if you've got time this evening? Work, etc?_

_Steve: I've got time._

_Steve: To sit in the dark with no electricity and, I don't know, ponder the Great Depression._

Bucky, who has taken another mouthful of his pasta in the meantime, nearly accidentally spits his mouthful out.

 

_James: Gotta say, Steve, when I was looking at your gym selfie, I didn't realise the muscles hid such an unrepentant smartass._

_Steve: How hard did you look, James?_

_Pretty damned hard,_ Bucky thinks to himself, but holds back from typing that in response.

 

_James: Also, if you're going to sass me this righteously, you should probably start calling me Bucky._

_Steve: Okay, but why Bucky?_

_James: Nickname I prefer to my given one._

_Steve: I feel like there's a story behind this, Bucky :)_

_James: For another time, maybe :)_

_James: Quill at the ready?_

_Steve: I'll try not to drip from my inkwell :p_  
  
They exchange messages most of the evening. Bucky's pasta goes cold and he scolds Babushka for sticking her nose in it, but she ignores him. Steve seemed to miss out on some of the best and most fundamental cartoon shows of the 80s and 90s, and Bucky tells him so. He tentatively asks that if maybe he didn't have a tv, perhaps a friend from school had one and he could've watched there?

 

Steve explains -- not unkindly, but matter-of-factly -- that when he was little he was sick a lot. Consequently he missed out on a lot of school and didn't really have too many friends. He goes on to explain he's physically a lot better now.

 

_Steve: I don't want to make excuses, but sometimes if I come across a bit awkward, please remember my lack of social interaction with peers as a child and take pity on me._

_James: Oh, like your very first messages to me?_

_Steve: Shut up :p_

Some hours later, Steve mentions he has to get some sleep, and makes an offer.

 

_Steve: I'd like to give you my phone number. You're completely not obligated to use it at all if you don't wish, but if you ever wanted to text me, or even have a phone conversation, I'd like that a lot._

Steve gives him his number, and Bucky doesn't even hesitate in programming it into his phone.

 

He waits for a moment, before scooping up Babushka and taking a quick selfie of her pushing her tiny paws belligerently against his face. Bucky sends it, along with the text:

 

_Just because I can't see your face, doesn't mean you get to escape from mine :P Goodnight, Steve._

Steve replies back immediately.

 

_Haha, I really wish I didn't have to go. Don't upset your cat just to send me great selfies. Have a lovely evening. Goodnight, Bucky._

Immediately followed by:

 

_Can I write you tomorrow?_

 

Bucky shakes his head almost fondly.

 

_Sure you can._

_Excellent,_ Steve replies, _I'll speak to you tomorrow. P.S. You look very handsome in your picture._

Bucky doesn't know what to reply to that, so he just lets it go. He spends the rest of the night toying with his phone, and accidentally allows Babushka to eat the rest of his penne.

***  
  
Over the next few weeks, contact with Steve is almost a daily occurrence. Sometimes, depending on either of their schedules, it's only a handful of texts, other times, there's a chain of them going from early morning until late at night.

 

Two things stay consistent, though. Steve always texts a 'Good morning, Bucky' first thing, and his last text of the evening is, without fail, is 'Goodnight, Bucky. Can I write you tomorrow?'

Steve starts posting pictures to him. As expected, they never contain anything that will identify him, but that's not to say he's not in them at all; they just never include his face.

 

Sometimes they're photos from his travels around New York, pictures of sketches he's currently working on, his coffee pot as he impatiently waits for it to brew. Steve's obsession with coffee is close to Bucky's heart. There have been a few from a high rise building looking down on Midtown, leading Bucky to believe that Steve might be based somewhere in Manhattan for work, even if he lives in Brooklyn.

 

If Bucky really wanted to he could start researching and trying to figure out what Steve does, and where he's based, but he doesn't want to do that. He's enjoying Steve letting him in with baby steps. It's like being given a little piece of a puzzle each day, that Bucky studies and figures out where it fits in the overall scheme of things. He's always been fond of a good brain-teaser.

 

Their texts sometimes take on a flirty tone, and Bucky's finding it harder and harder to resist flirting back. In actual fact, he's wondering why he's resisting at all, but it comes down to that initial (misplaced) reticence about matching with Steve's profile in the first place. He _is_ starting to become more interested in Steve, maybe it's time he began showing it more obviously.

 

One morning Steve sends a picture message from his run of the pre-dawn light in Prospect Park.

 

 _Good morning, Bucky, rise and shine!_ He says, knowing very well that Bucky despises getting up before the sun.

 

Bucky has forgotten to mute his message tone and it wakes him up. He scrubs a hand across his face tiredly. Now he's up, he won't be able to go back to sleep. The words are so bright and chipper Bucky just _knows_ they're drenched in sarcasm.

 

 _God-fucking-damnit Steve why are you so cheerful,_ he texts back. With a yawn, he flicks on the tv straight away, happy that cartoons are on. The quiet can be oppressive sometimes.

 

 _It's the start of a beautiful day_ , comes the reply, and another photo of the park, presumably from a bench because there are a pair of long legs encased in pretty tight sweats at the bottom of the frame. Steve's ankles are crossed casually, but Bucky spends longer than he should following the line of muscle under the fabric.

 

Parts of him, early-morning-still-half-asleep parts, twitch with interest.

 

Looking down, Bucky's lips curve in a bit of a grin at a remembered conversation between him and Steve. After a moment's hesitation, Bucky engages the camera on his phone, holds it up and takes a photo. After inspecting it, he attaches it with the message: _Can't be as good as still being in bed watching Spongebob. You are doing life wrong._

 

Ostensibly it's a photo of what he's watching on tv, but two-thirds of the bottom of the frame are taken up by Bucky's body. He sleeps shirtless in summer, and the only thing he's wearing is...

 

 _Are they the Ranger panties?_ Comes Steve's immediate response.

 

 _Ranger SHORTS,_ Bucky corrects. _And yes. I sleep in them sometimes. Like I said; comfortable._

There's a bit of a pause, wherein Bucky second-guesses what he's done. The flirting has been kind of gentle and up to this point hasn't included any even slightly risqué photos. Steve comes across as a little old-fashioned, which is really endearing. Maybe he's overstepped.

 

_Wow. Absolutely amazing._

There's a pause before a second message comes through: _Your sheets are incredible._

Bucky grins. He hasn't overstepped.

 

_May I point out that you have woken me up -- on a Saturday, no less -- purely to be an asshole to me? I'm not sure why I'm still talking to you right now._

Babushka jumps up on Bucky's bed and he runs his fingers repeatedly over the soft fur from her nose to her forehead. She curls up next to him and starts purring.

 

He takes another photo of her curled in the crook of his arm.

 

_At least someone respects me and my philosophy that mornings are for sleep._

And if there happens to be a good deal of bare skin in that photo as well, well that's just coincidence.

 

 _That's gorgeous_ , comes the reply. _Also Babushka is pretty cute, too._

Bucky gives a shit-eating grin that no one else can see. Not even Babushka, she's sound asleep already.

 

***  
  
It doesn't happen really often, but Bucky will have a bad night from time to time. They're not a daily or even a weekly occurrence, but he's never gone more than a month without having at least one.

 

When he does, if it's after 2am and before 7am -- despite what his VA counsellor says about no time being a bad time -- he'll sit at the bottom of his shower and decompress for a while before calling. If it's past 7am, he'll call Benjamin straight away and they'll have a talk. That's usually enough to calm him down, but if it's not, they'll get together and have a very strong coffee and a chat.

 

It's 5.23am, and Bucky is lying in sweat-soaked sheets. It's too early to call Benjamin and he just doesn't _want_ to have a shower right now. He doesn't want to leave the relative comfort and safety of his bed.

 

Bucky reaches out blindly for his phone. The message alert is blinking in the corner. The time stamp is from 5.12am.

 

 _Good morning, Bucky!_ Steve's text proclaims cheerfully. _A bird nearly shat on me when I stopped for a water break on my run this morning. I'm wondering if that means something about the day ahead._

Bucky lets out a little laugh that comes out bearing more of a resemblance to a choked off sob.

 

His fingers start typing automatically. _You busy? Can I call?_

The reply is fairly quick. _Of course._

 

Bucky sags in relief. He doesn't know _why_ he wants to talk to Steve, when he's not calling Benjamin, or even any of his other friends. But it's five in the morning and he needs some human contact.

 

He sits and swings his legs off the mattress, feet hovering over the floor anxiously. Even the sensation of putting his toes on the carpet is setting Bucky's teeth on edge, so he pulls his legs back up, tucking them into his chest to lean back against the headboard.

 

Bucky hits the green phone icon and puts the device up to his ear. It rings approximately twice before the call is connected.

 

"Hey, Bucky. Is everything okay?"

 

The unfamiliar voice in his ear is somewhat deep, and it's soothing, full to the brim with what sounds like genuine concern. And bless him for realising this isn't a regular request straight away. Bucky's shoulders drop almost immediately, some of the tension seeping out. Why, when he's never heard Steve before, he doesn't know. But there it is.

 

"What makes you say that?" Bucky croaks out, voice embarrassingly rusty from disuse.

 

"Well, I know how you hate mornings," Steve says conversationally, and that pulls a small laugh from Bucky's chest.

 

"One of many things I don't miss about the Army is getting up at the ass-crack of dawn," Bucky says.

 

"I'm surprised you could train yourself out of the habit. I haven't been able to do it yet."

 

"Takes dedication and a willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty. Feel like I should get decorated for that shit. Might be nice to have a spangly accolade to my name."

 

"You'd think the big medals look really nice... and they do, from a distance. But up close they're really not all that good. Plus all you do when you get it is put them in a drawer, you know?"

 

"So you don't wear your Medal of Honor out clubbing on the weekend?" Bucky asks facetiously.

 

"Like I said; in a drawer," Steve responds, and while Bucky knows _he_ was joking, it feels as though Steve is not.

 

He pauses, fingers rubbing over his mouth. "Uh..."

 

"Bucky?" Steve asks tentatively.

 

"You really have a Medal of Honor?" Bucky asks, his voice going slightly higher pitched than he would like.

 

"Uh, yes?" Steve answers. He sounds embarrassed now.

 

Well, shit. The Medal of Honor. _The_ Medal of Honor. The highest military award (non-posthumous) for bravery. _That_ Medal of Honor.

 

Fuck his life. He's not just calling a fellow soldier or a friend with his head-noise, he's calling a Medal of fucking Honor recipient. For fuck's sake, these things are presented by _Presidents_ for the most courageous acts, and here Bucky is whining about having shitty night terrors. Suddenly the desire to talk about his problems to Steve fades.

 

"What'd you get it for? Or is it classified, too?" It seems to be a good deflection at the time.

 

There's a longer pause on the end of the line. "It's not classified, but I don't really feel like talking about it now, if it's all the same to you." Steve's voice is quiet, a little pained.

 

And the deflection crashes and burns. Bucky feels like a fucking heel.

 

"Sorry. I'm sorry. Look, it's early, I'll ah.. yeah. I'll get my foot out of my mouth and I'm gonna--"

 

"Did you have a bad night?" Steve asks gently. They've touched a little on PTSD in their texts, but nothing major. They've used the terms 'bad night' or 'bad day' as polite code for anything ranging from anxiety and panic attacks, to nightmares. Bucky is completely unsurprised that Steve cuts to the heart of the matter immediately.

 

"Yeah," Bucky says with a sigh. Suddenly, he can't sit still anymore. Sliding off the bed, he begins an aimless pacing in his bedroom.

 

"Anything specific? Anything you want to talk about?" Steve prods gently.

 

Bucky cards the fingers of one hand repeatedly through his hair, ending each stroke with a little tug on the end of the strands. The pull at his scalp keeps bringing him back into the room. "Nothing specific. I can't even remember what the dream was about, or who was in it... I just woke up feeling sick, and scared."

 

"I'm sorry, Bucky," Steve says. If anyone else told him they were sorry for how he's feeling, he'd probably tell them to cram it. But Steve knows, as much as any other human can know, and that's okay, he supposes.

 

"I'm sorry for calling, Steve, I'm not thinking straight. And Numero Uno on the 'Not Thinking Straight' list is phone the guy I've been texting to speak for the first time when I'm feeling my absolute shittiest."

 

"I don't know," Steve says, "It's actually a _little_ flattering."

 

His tone is really kind, but there's also a low burr in that voice that's on the edge of sexy, which also sounds completely unintentional on his part.

 

Which only makes it sexier to Bucky.

 

"Only you would think that, Steve," Bucky says, stopping his pacing for a moment to scrub a hand across his face. "You sound all smooth and entirely too awake for this time of morning, and I sound like I've been gargling sand."

"You don't sound bad, don't be so hard on yourself."

 

Bucky sighs and they lapse into silence. He's not sure what to say, but Steve does it for him.

 

"I've been wondering for a little while what your voice sound like."

 

"Oh?" Bucky queries, taking a shuffling step forward. "Have I lived up to your lofty expectations?"

 

"Met and exceeded them all," Steve answers with confidence, and Bucky shakes his head. This guy might actually be too good to be true, and that makes him inherently suspicious.

 

Steve gives a warm chuckle. "Do I sound like you thought I would? I'm curious."

 

"Your voice is--" _Better_ "--deeper than I thought it'd be. I didn't think you'd speak like David Beckham, but still. Deeper." Bucky clears his throat.

 

"You sound a little better, your breathing's evened out," Steve comments, and Bucky starts. Without really noticing, the tension in his muscles has been easing over the last minute or two, the ants running under his skin slowing their ceaseless march.

 

He's almost forgotten why he called Steve in the first place.

 

"And please don't mistake this for complaining, but why did you call me and not your counsellor? Benjamin, right?"

 

"Too early. I didn't want to be a bother."

 

"But you called me?" Steve doesn't sound annoyed. If anything, he sounds like a cross between amused and pleased.

 

"Yeah well... You were already up, weren't you? Ass crack of dawn, and all that," Bucky mumbles.

 

"I'm glad you did," he says, before there's a pause. "Okay, so I'm going to ask something, and I hope you don't think it's too much. If you do, that's fine, you're under no obligation to do anything, really, I just thought, well. I just thought..." he trails off for a moment.

 

"Getting awkward there, Steve," Bucky teases gently, and for some reason, knowing that a recipient of the Medal of Goddamn Honor can be _so fucking awkward_ makes his chest feel lighter.

 

"Shut up," Steve says slightly breathlessly. "I was wondering if you wanted to meet up and get a coffee today?"

 

Bucky freezes for a moment, and everything in the room is vaguely charged with static electricity. He's been thinking about this for a while, and he knows more than anything what the answer should be today.

 

"No," he replies.

 

"No?" Steve says, and while he tries to hide it, the disappointment is a palpable entity.

 

"Not never, Steve. Just... not today. It's not a good day."

 

"Oh."

 

"You wouldn't be meeting the real me if we caught up today. And... I like you enough that I'd rather you meet Bucky Barnes, well-rested and deeply sarcastic, not the exhausted, bitter human functioning on two hours of truly crappy sleep."

 

There's a pause at the end, and when Steve answers, some of that disappointment is gone from his tone. "I understand. I really do want to meet Deeply Sarcastic Bucky."

 

"Pal, at this stage it's a bit of a foregone conclusion."

 

Steve chuckles, and there's a pause that's not awkward, just calm.

 

"Thanks for letting me call you," Bucky says quietly.

 

"Anytime. You doing any better?"

 

Bucky takes stock of his hands that aren't trembling, his steadier heart rate -- now only slightly elevated. "I am," he replies. "I don't work until later this afternoon, so I've got time to... level off."

 

"Do me a favour?" Steve asks, then continues before Bucky can answer. "Call Benjamin? Be a stubborn ass and wait until after seven if you have to, but call him?"

 

Bucky had planned to do that anyway, but doesn't get argumentative at the suggestion. "I will," he says.

 

"Well, I'll let you rest, and give you a bit of space for the rest of the day, if you like," Steve says.

 

While Bucky wouldn't be averse to hearing from Steve more today, he also knows he needs to work on calming and focusing techniques with Benjamin, catching up on sleep, and being prepared for his job later in the day. A day to himself won't kill him.

 

"That would be much appreciated, thank you."

 

"Two quick things, though. One, now that we've spoken on the phone, do you think maybe we could do it again at some stage? If you wanted to."

 

"I am definitely okay with that."

 

"Great," Steve says, and Bucky can practically _feel_ the relieved grin in his voice. "Secondly... can I write you tomorrow?"

 

Bucky really can't help the helpless smile that graces his exhausted features. He suspects that Steve does know the answer is 'yes' every day, but it's still nice to be asked. Bucky likes it. "Of course."

 

True to his word, Bucky has radio silence from Steve for the rest of the day, save for one message in the early evening after he's finished with his kids, wishing him goodnight.

 

***  
  
The first phone call seems to open up even more avenues of communication for Bucky and Steve. They still text most days, and they talk on the phone several times a week. The phone calls get longer.

 

Steve is pleasant to talk to. He's got a world view unique and quite unlike anyone else Bucky has ever met. He has old-fashioned values, but he's not close-minded. He's the sort of guy that would hold a door open for a woman, not because he thinks she's incapable or shouldn't do it herself, but because it's the polite thing to do.

 

The coffee date is an ever-present subject, and a definite date is made. Unfortunately, the night before their proposed meet, Steve calls apologetically and says he's getting sent out of state for a week for work.

 

"Should I be reading into this at all, Steve?" Bucky jokes. "We make a time to meet up and you suddenly have to go away for work?"

 

"Well, you _are_ a terrible conversationalist. I mean, really. No redeeming qualities whatsoever," Steve says dryly, though he can't hide the tease in his voice. "To tell you the truth, I was in it purely for the coffee."

 

"Your priorities are spot on," Bucky notes.

 

"But I _am_ sorry," Steve says, and the genuine apology is back in his voice. "I'll likely be gone for a week, if it's longer, I'll find a way to get a message to you. Hopefully it won't be."

 

"It's okay, if you go full comm blackout, I understand," Bucky says. "Go off and save the world, or whatever it is you do."

 

There's a slight pause on the end of the line before Steve speaks again. "Can I write you when I get back?"

 

Bucky knows he should probably be getting tired of the question, but he's not. He's really not.

 

"I'll allow it," Bucky answers, as though he's doing Steve a favour.

 

"Great," Steve answers, and Bucky's fairly sure he can hear the smile on the other end of the line. He's not seen Steve's face, but he sounds like the kind of guy that would smile a lot. "Goodnight, Bucky."

 

"Goodnight, Steve. Stay safe."

 

***  
  
Bucky doesn't realise how much he just foregoes general interaction outside of work until Steve's gone, because he realises quite quickly that in the last six weeks, communicating with Steve has filled in those gaps.

 

He still gets the odd notification from Tinder where there's been a match, and some of the connections he's made still talk to him, but Bucky has found the desire to continue swiping through -- and the subsequent follow-through conversations -- has dwindled somewhat.

 

Someone he'd matched with before talking to Steve starts chatting to him, and given he's not doing anything else, Bucky returns conversation. It's not the same, though. The guy is a bit of a dick; too full of himself to do much more than talk about himself all the time, never asking anything about Bucky save for wanting to know when they can meet. _As if_ , Bucky thinks, and unmatches them after declining.

'

Without Steve to talk to, it turns out to be a pretty boring-ass week. Bucky's not moping, he's _not_ , but he can't even be bothered to do much more of an evening than park himself on the couch, watch tv and stroke Babushka.

 

He doesn't even get much solace there, when the movie he's watching (along with a lot of other channels) crosses over to a live feed of some of the Avengers clearing out some terrorist base in Mexico, or Brazil or something. He falls asleep on the sofa waiting for his movie to come back on.

 

***  
  
Eight days later -- not that Bucky's really been counting -- Bucky wakes mid-morning to find his phone flashing a message. He yawns and scratches his stubble; maybe it's work calling him in earlier than his 12pm session with the group of kids from the local high school. He's organised with the science teacher to take a small group of troubled kids in their afternoon period to the New York Aquarium. They have specialised projects to work on, and the setting gives them a chance to digress from school work and talk about issues they might be having, without it feeling like they're in trouble or in some kind of counsellor's meeting.

 

Plus, the sea lion show is awesome.

 

Bucky blinks at the screen blearily, to find a message most certainly _not_ from work. He swipes it open quickly and wills his eyes to focus on the text:

 

_Good morning, Bucky! I hope you're keeping well. Back home and stuck in wall-to-wall briefings all day, but I could definitely use a coffee tomorrow morning. Maybe you'd like to join me?_

Bucky swiftly texts a reply in the affirmative, and he definitely gains a spring in his step as they hash out the details of where and when over the course of the day; presumably in between Steve's briefings.

 

The thought that Bucky is finally going to meet Steve after about six weeks of talking back and forth has him equal parts excited and nervous. He knows he likes the guy, but he's liked people he's met before sight-unseen, only to meet them and really have no spark of attraction.

 

Maybe if all else fails and there's no romantic chemistry between them, Steve will end up turning into a friend he can catch up with. They've definitely gotten on well enough for that to be a possibility.

 

Bucky can't help hoping that there's some little spark there, though.

 

His afternoon with the kids goes well; Jonathan, a kid whose teachers say is nothing but disruptive and trouble in class, opens up to Bucky about his challenging home life while they're studying starfish at the touch pool. He also seems to do brilliantly in his set project when lots of visual aids are involved. Bucky suspects home problems coupled with a potential learning difficulty might be contributing to his behaviour. He makes some notes for the school and his own personal files.

 

He gets a few texts from Steve during the afternoon, which makes him smile. Bucky responds with photos of the sea creatures he encounters, and also a quick selfie of him in front of the groper tank when the kids aren't looking.

 

 _Is that meant to be suggestive?_ Steve jokes, and Bucky sends him another photo flipping the bird.

 

***  
  
On Saturday morning, Bucky wakes up earlier than usual. He has a shower and shaves off three day's worth of growth around his jaw, and makes sure is hair is neat. The wardrobe situation is interesting; he wants to look nice, but not like he's trying too hard. Even though it's still a little warm, he goes for a burgundy and light grey striped sweater, which he can push the sleeves up on, and a pair of black boot-cut jeans. Sure, there are tighter jeans in his wardrobe, but he wants to be comfortable. Casual attractiveness is what he's after.

 

Bucky has the option to walk or catch the subway a couple of stops to the coffee shop they've decided upon. He ends up taking the subway and getting there early to eliminate the risk of getting sweaty on the journey. Bucky arrives about twenty minutes before ten o'clock. He stalks the outside nervously for a while before deciding to get into the air conditioning and order something to eat, having been a little too preoccupied to do so before he left home.

 

He orders an Americano and a ham and cheese croissant, and finds a booth along the back wall. Sitting so he has a clear view of the door and front windows of the coffee shop, Bucky needs something to do with his hands while he waits for his coffee and food; the anticipation is a killer. With a flick he unlocks his phone and types out a message to Steve:

 

_At the coffee shop, booth in the back. Look kinda like Waldo without the beanie..._

Bucky's a bit nervous, but he always is on first dates. And let's not kid around, this _is_ a first date. Whether it's a good or bad or mediocre one remains to be seen.

 

His phone chimes with Steve's message: _ETA 5 mins. I'll find you, Waldo :)_

The tiny part of him that was wondering if Steve might cancel again is silenced. Steve's really on his way, and Bucky can't decide whether he's excited or terrified. A waitress arrives with his coffee in a large cup and saucer, his croissant on a matching plate.

 

Bucky absently bites a corner off the croissant and goes into the folder of photos Steve's sent him, created shortly after they traded numbers. It includes the pictures from his Tinder profile, but also all the pics that Steve has sent through since they've been in contact. There's photos of his travels, art work in progress shots -- there's a beautiful study of the face of the angel statue in Central Park -- and one time, a selfie in a suit asking for advice on its cut. Bucky pores over the photos, trying to divine any extra information from them that he might've missed.

 

He's trying not to expect too much, even though said expectations have been built up pretty high based on their interactions. There's always the possibility that Steve isn't as great as he seems; God knows that's happened before and Bucky's been disappointed.

 

If nothing else, he's enjoyed talking to Steve over the past six weeks, and the man has been a breath of fresh air. Their contact has convinced him he needs to make a little more of an effort to reach out to people; he does it to the kids in his program all the time, but he could do so much more in his personal life.

 

The bell on the door chimes and Bucky looks up absently. A large man nearly fills the doorframe. Broad shoulders wear a plain white shirt, with a black lightweight jacket thrown over them. Semi-fitted boot-cut jeans encase long legs that end in fancy running sneakers.

 

Bucky's mouth goes a little dry. He's certainly the right shape, but as usual, Bucky can't see his face; he's wearing a peaked cap pulled down low, with large aviator sunglasses peeking out from underneath the brim's shadow.

 

Any question of it being the right person is summarily banished when the man in question quickly scans the interior of the coffee shop. He stops when facing in Bucky's direction. The lower part of his face gives a little grin, and he walks directly over to the booth.

 

Bucky slides out of the booth to greet him standing, but he's waved back down. "Bucky?" the query comes out in a voice that Bucky is eminently familiar with now, although hearing its timbre in person is a whole new ballgame. Bucky nods and the lower half of Steve's face opens up into a wider grin.

 

Steve holds out his hand and Bucky takes it. The skin is warm and calloused. "It's so nice to finally meet you," he says.

 

Steve sits opposite Bucky, sliding into the booth. He takes his glasses off and hangs them on the yoke of his t shirt and the cap comes off to perch on the table next to him. Steve runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it a little from where the hat has messed up the style.

 

Bucky looks.

 

And looks.

 

And _looks._

"Steve," he says dumbly.

 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, a little grin creasing the corner of his lips.

 

"Steve," Bucky repeats, stupidly.

 

The grin begins to fade. "Bucky? Are you all right?" he asks with concern.

 

"Steve," Bucky repeats a third time. "Steve _Rogers_?"

 

The penny drops for Steve, and he looks a little embarrassed. "That's me?"

 

Bucky places both hands flat on the table in front of him to steady himself.

 

Because sitting across from him is _Captain fucking America_.

 

There's the strong jaw, pink lips, slightly crooked nose, crystal blue eyes and long dark eyelashes, dark golden hair he's seen on tv from time to time, or an occasional newspaper photo.

 

"So... just to clarify... Steve Rogers from Brooklyn who fought in World War II. You're _that_ Steve?"

 

"When I said I was poor and sitting in the dark contemplating the Great Depression, I wasn't actually lying," Steve says in that ridiculously familiar deadpan, and Bucky lets out a slightly hysterical peal of laughter.

 

Oh yeah, it's the Steve he's been talking to this whole time. Nobody else is that goddamn snarky. Except maybe _him_.

 

Everything makes sense. His manners, the gaps in his pop culture knowledge, the nature of his job and Army service and--

 

"You just came back from Mexico. You were hunting terrorists."

 

"Venezuela, actually," he corrects. "Did you see it on the news?"

 

"A little, but I don't like to watch the news. Too depressing."

 

Bucky shakes his head and gives another laugh that is just a shade too close to manic for comfort. His eyes search Steve's face, before noticing a laceration on his left cheekbone, the centre is red and purple but the edges are turning that sickly shade of healing yellow.

 

"You're hurt," Bucky reaches out automatically, going to cup the side of Steve's face. The edges of his fingers brush the bruise and Steve's eye twitches. "I'm sorry," Bucky says, drawing back, but Steve reaches up to catch his hand and keep it there.

 

"It's okay. Yesterday it was a fractured cheekbone. Today it's just a tender bruise."

 

"Wow," Bucky breathes out, only half in fascination at the story. The other half is probably definitely because Steve is still holding Bucky's hand to his face.

 

After a few moments, Steve lets his hand go and Bucky drops it clasp his fingers together in front of him.

 

Bucky needs to take a moment. So far, nothing has happened that he has anticipated for. At _all._ He needs to regroup.

 

Taking up his coffee in both hands, and proud there's no tremor, Bucky sips all the while watching Steve carefully over the rim of his cup.

 

With great effort, he puts it down and laces his fingers in front of him calmly.

 

"I know you might not get this, but _Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do,_ " Bucky says.

 

Steve gives a little smile. "I understood that reference," he tells Bucky. "But before I go into any explanations, do you mind if I order a coffee? That's really what I'm here for, after all," he says.

 

Bucky waves him off with a dismissive hand gesture. "Go. Take your sassy ways to the counter, and let me think for a minute."

 

Steve nods and walks to the counter to order. If Bucky's being honest he spends less time thinking about what's actually happening and more time staring at Steve's behind as he's buying coffee.

 

But he does spend a _little_ time thinking about his situation. Most of it being combinations of _Steve fucking Rogers_ and _Captain fucking America_ , swirling around in his head.

 

Steve returns and slides back into the booth gracefully. Bucky returns to sipping his coffee as a coping mechanism and trying not to stare, but it really is quite difficult.

 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Steve says immediately. "It's not really something I find easy to just come out with. Plus there's a chance you'dve thought I was crazy and stopped talking to me."

 

"Well, you could've always sent me a photo of you in uniform," Bucky blurts out without thinking, and Steve laughs.

 

"There's that," he said, "but then I would've missed your face in person."

 

"Oh it wasn't that bad," Bucky scoffs.

 

"You went a little white. I thought you were going to pass out," Steve says.

 

"In that case, you might've needed to give me mouth-to-mouth." The flirt just pours out of his mouth automatically, but he doesn't wish to call it back when he sees Steve's grave nod.

 

"It would've been un-American not to."

 

Bucky laughs again, and Steve grins as well. He reaches over to pick up Bucky's croissant, tears it in half, drops some back onto the plate and starts chewing on the half he stole.

 

"Hey! Speaking of un-American," Bucky says with a wounded expression. "What kind of hero does that?"

 

"The kind that has already ordered a replacement?" Steve suggests. The waitress chooses that moment to bring over Steve's cup of coffee, as well as a replacement ham and cheese croissant, a blueberry muffin already cut in half, and a little container of fruit salad.

 

Steve thanks the waitress until she blushes, and gestures to the wares in front of him. "Help yourself," he says.

 

Bucky looks at the nice spread before them, and takes a strawberry from the fruit salad.

 

"So, I gotta ask the most obvious question," he says around chewing on the fruit, "how does Captain America find himself on Tinder? What's more, why the hell did Captain America contact _me_?"

 

"Well, like I said in my profile, my job is hectic and I _do_ have difficulty meeting new people. Whilst the dating pool at work is pretty diverse, I really want something separate from that part of my life, something I can just call my own. But... maybe, someone who can at least _understand_ what I have to do."

 

"And that's me because...?"

 

"Well, you've served in the military, which goes a long way to understanding what I do and why I do it. You work with under-privileged kids in the neighbourhood, which is important work that I respect." Steve gives him a little grin. "You're kind of sarcastic without being obnoxious, you're active, and a bit of a looker, to boot."

 

Bucky's sure his cheeks are going a little hot. He is _not_ flushing in front of Captain America, damnit.

 

Bucky's hands curl around his coffee cup, just for something to do. "And you couldn't show your face on there because of--" He drops his voice to a whisper, "of SHIELD?"

 

"You can say their name at a regular volume," Steve grins before nodding a little. "There's the security aspect, yes. But there was also an element of wanting to meet someone without them knowing what they _think_ they know about Captain America. I tried to include as much about me as I possibly could, just without mentioning that."

 

"You didn't want anyone to treat you differently because of who you are," Bucky finishes the thought. It makes perfect sense. Someone like Steve must find it hard to get treated just like a regular person. Hell, Bucky probably would've acted differently without meaning to, had he known he was talking to _the_ Steve Rogers. He's suddenly very glad he didn't know.

 

"I didn't want to lie, but there were certain things I couldn't say. Do you know how annoying it was to have to put my birth year as 1987 so the profile showed my correct chronological age?"

 

Bucky hides a smirk behind his coffee cup. "I never thought of that," he admits. "It must've been terrible for you, you Boy Scout."

 

"Exactly." Steve cocks his head to the side. "What did _you_ think when you saw me on there?"

 

"I thought..." Bucky considers. Does he tell the truth or make up some bullshit story?

 

That's not even a question.

 

He puts his cup down on the saucer. "I thought you were a bit of a meat-head gym bro who wouldn't be able to string two words together even if they were your own name," Bucky answers.

 

Steve freezes for a moment, and Bucky thinks he's definitely fucked up by telling the truth.

 

Then Steve tilts his head back and _laughs_. And it's possibly the best sound that Bucky's ever had the privilege of hearing.

 

***

 

And so, the best first date of Bucky's life continues. Steve is just as charming and cheeky in person as he has been on the phone or through texts, except now Bucky gets to note the hand gestures and the micro expressions and sees how his words affect Steve's behaviour.

 

Any doubts he'd previously entertained about perhaps not having any chemistry with Steve in person are summarily dashed. Steve leans forward when they speak, eyes glittering. His knees brush against Bucky's from time to time, until somehow they find their feet touching under the table. Bucky lays his left hand on the surface of their table, and as Steve's making a point about something, he lays his right hand over the top of it. And never quite takes it away.

 

They talk enough that their waitress comes over and asks if they want to order anything else. Bucky orders a regular coffee with milk this time, Steve gets a pot of tea.

 

"Traitor," Bucky says without too much heat, and Steve's fingers squeeze his briefly.

 

Bucky feels like they could continue forever until Steve's phone makes an insistent buzzing sound. He looks as though he wants to ignore it, but grabs it reluctantly anyway.

 

It's a call, not a text message. "I'm sorry, this will just take a second," he apologises before answering the phone. "Rogers, go," he says in a clipped tone.

 

The one-sided conversation is fairly short, but obviously doesn't have any news that Steve likes in it.

 

"Yes... all day yesterday... they want _what?_ But I'm just repeating myself and-- No, no. I understand... okay. I'll be there in thirty minutes-- you don’t have to do that. Look, you don't even know where I am and-- Well yes, but... please don't tell me you bugged my clothes _again--"_

The door to the coffee shop opens and a deadly-looking black-clad figure with blood-red hair enters. She has a phone up to her ear. "Come on, Rogers, let's _go,_ " she orders. Steve looks over his shoulder and sighs.

 

Bucky's breath catches. The Black fucking Widow just walked in and is ordering Steve around. Steve heaves himself reluctantly out of the booth, and Bucky stands as well.

 

"I apparently have to do a thing. They're not quite finished with me from yesterday," Steve says with obvious chagrin.

 

"That's okay," Bucky says, scratching the back of his neck. "Duty calls, right?"

 

"Sometimes I wish Duty lost my number," Steve jokes and Bucky laughs. There's a loud clearing of a throat, and the distinct sound of a heel tapping impatiently against the floor, which Steve summarily ignores.

 

"I have to go," he says sadly.

 

Bucky nods. "I had a really good time," he says, and he means it sincerely. It's not every day you get to go on a date with one of the best soldiers in American war history and all-round living legend. "I think we should do this again. You know, if you wanted to."

 

"Me, too," Steve says with a beaming smile. They stare at each other for a moment, only to have it broken again by the Widow's impatience.

 

"If I have to get over there and drag you away..." she lets the threat dangle.

 

"You'd better go," Bucky says, giving Steve a little push in the bicep.

 

"Yeah. This could take a while." Steve says, reluctantly retrieving his cap from the table.

 

Bucky bites his bottom lip a little. "Well, bye, I guess."

 

Steve starts to back away before suddenly changing his mind. Instead of moving away, he leans in close, a hand resting lightly on Bucky's hip. Steve's hair brushes Bucky's cheek, and lips ghost over the skin there before pressing down, lighting up Bucky's nerve endings like fireworks.

 

"Can I write you later?" he pulls back to ask, but still close enough that Bucky can smell his cologne mixing with the scent of coffee on his breath.

 

Bucky grins. "Of course. Now will you leave before she kills you?"

 

Steve smiles brightly once again, skating a thumb gently over Bucky's cheek. "Bye!" he says before turning towards the door.

 

When he gets there, the Widow is watching him. Her expression isn't as severe as her words, however. In fact, the corner of her mouth twitches decidedly with amusement. "Come on, Romeo," she says, pushing Steve out the door.

 

Bucky watches them both move past the large open windows of the of the coffee shop, and sees the redhead flick him a quick, speculative glance just before she leaves his sightline.

 

When they're gone, Bucky falls back down into the booth like a marionette with its strings cut. He sits, staring at the remnants of their brunch. It's been about ninety minutes since he walked into the coffee shop, and a little over sixty-five since his world definitely became a helluva lot more interesting.

 

Bucky's picking at the leftover crumbs of the muffin he and Steve shared when their waitress comes back over.

 

"I don't mean to be rude, but... were you just having a brunch date with _Captain America_?" She asks with wonder.

 

Bucky huffs out a laugh. "I... I guess I was." He looks up at her with a questioning glance. "Say... you wouldn't know how to uninstall Tinder, would you?"


	2. Dating (weeks 1-2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Nickname  
> * The One With The Tinder Notifications  
> * The One With The Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't quite stay away, and I blame all of you. Seriously. The reaction to the first chapter was overwhelming and wonderful, and this is the reason there's more. 
> 
> These are vignettes that are chronicling Steve and Bucky's journey in dating. I'm also naming each little section like Friends Episodes. Because no reason. 
> 
> There's still a lot of sarcasm, but there's also serious topics that come up, too. So it'll be a mixture. And there's more to come. I'm not sure how much more? But more. Also comments give me life. 
> 
> Forever and ever love to Sarah for the beta. She now ships Stucky. XD

**_The One With The Nickname_ **

**_(Location: Bucky's Apartment)_ **

 

Steve is sitting on the edge of the sofa at Bucky's apartment, while Bucky gets them both a cold drink. Bucky wouldn't ordinarily be inviting a date to his home so early, but Steve's a special case. Sometimes out in public he tends to cause a stir, so Bucky thinks maybe this might be a nice way to get to know one another better without the added pressure of watching out for paparazzi cameras, or well-meaning (but intruding) members of the public.

 

It's strange looking to his sofa and seeing Steve there, but it's also really, _really_ nice.

 

"Bucky," Steve says, and Bucky looks up.

 

"Mhm?"

 

"You never did tell me why you go by 'Bucky' for a nickname."

 

"You didn't ask," Bucky replies, moving to the sofa to hand Steve a glass of cold water, before sitting next to him.

 

"I _did_ ask," Steve corrects, "and you told me it was a story for another time."

 

"Oh, right." Bucky takes a sip of his water, and puts it on the coaster on the coffee table. "It's not really terribly exciting. My little sister Becca hated calling me 'James' when she was small, so she went straight for the middle name and butchered that instead."

 

"Your middle name being...?"

 

"Buchanan."

 

Steve freezes, and Bucky is momentarily panicked. "What? What is it?"

 

He quickly swallows his water. "Your name is James Buchanan?"

 

"Yeeess?" Bucky says, arching an eyebrow. "So?"

 

Steve shakes his head. "Wow. It's just... yeah. Coincidence."

 

"What is?"

 

Steve puts down his water and sits forward on the sofa, leaning towards Bucky. "Okay, so see the Nazi science division--"

 

"HYDRA, yeah, you've mentioned them once or twice," Bucky says wryly. "What about them?"

 

"HYDRA had this blue glowing cube. The Tesseract, they called it. It was from Asgard."

 

"Where Thor's from?"

 

"The very same."

 

Bucky is a little confused. "What does this have to do with my name?"

 

Steve shrugs a little. "Not so much your name, but your name _sake_. See, last time I touched the Tesseract, it sent me back in time. To 1856."

 

Bucky's eyes widen. "Shit, really?"

 

"Yeah," Steve nods, clasping his hands together. "It so happens I ended up helping one _James Buchanan_ secure the Democratic nomination for the 1857 election."

 

Bucky's eyes nearly bug out of his head. "That's insane!"

 

"I know," Steve says. "What are the odds, huh?"

 

"Weirdly astronomical, I think," Bucky says.

 

"Who knows?" Steve shrugs. "Without me being there, your name could've been something completely different. Your name could've been John Fremont instead, and I could be calling you 'Monty'."

 

"That's kind of ridiculous and--" Bucky catches Steve's shoulders shake. "--what are you laughing at?"

 

Steve begins to chuckle out loud, and Bucky frowns. "Steve, are you having me on?"

 

Steve looks at him for one moment longer, before tipping his head back and braying laughter, clutching at his chest with one hand.

 

"You are _such_ a lying little _shit_!" Bucky howls, punching Steve in the arm. It only ends up hurting his fist, but he takes mild satisfaction in the fact that Steve at least _pretends_ to feel it.

 

***  


**_The One With The Tinder Notifications_ **

**_(Location: Bucky's Apartment)_ **

  
Steve is on the floor playing with Babushka and a ribbon, when his phone on the breakfast bar vibrates.

 

"You've got a notification," Bucky says from the refrigerator, where he's rifling around. "Meanwhile, I might have to go to the store, you eat more than I thought."

 

"Can you check it out for me?" Steve asks, unable to tear his eyes from Babushka's playful gambolling. "And sorry about that, we can go now if you want? I'm buying."

 

Bucky grunts in approval, and checks Steve's phone. He sees a familiar little flame logo on the screen. He holds up the screen to Steve. "You still getting Tinder notifications?" Bucky asks, and does his best to sound as non-judgmental as possible. Even though he's still getting to know Steve, he trusts him a fair bit already.

 

Steve glances up with a slightly adorable frown. "Yeah. I'm pretty good with tech but I couldn't quite figure out how to get rid of the program," he says, admonishing Babushka gently when she sinks her claws into his hand at his inattention. "Could you help me?"

 

Bucky's grin takes over slower than molasses. "Sure. In a minute."

 

"What do you mea-- _ow,_ Babushka, _no_ ," Steve mumbles out, trying to dislodge Babushka's needle-like teeth from his palm. She looks up at him innocently, blinking big, green eyes, and Steve immediately smiles and pats her again. Once Babushka is appeased, he gets up and dusts his knees off. "What are you doing?"

 

Bucky hushes Steve and taps the flame icon. "You've matched with Liam," he says. "28... loves art museums and-- oh. Steve," Bucky clicks his tongue in disapproval. "You're into pot smokers?"

 

"What?" Steve looks over Bucky's shoulder. "I swear it didn't say that."

 

"That's what '420 friendly' means."

 

"Oh..." Steve says slowly, brow furrowing. "I didn't know. I was going to look it up, but I didn't get around to it and it sounded harmless."

 

Bucky grins like a lunatic. "Captain Healthy-Living matched with a pot smoker."

 

"Shut up," Steve rolls his eyes and makes a grab for the phone. Startlingly, he misses.

 

"Noo... I must send him a message detailing all the doobies you wish to smoke with him."

 

"'Doobies'?" Steve scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. "Now I know you're having me on."

 

Bucky grins and goes back to Steve's matches page. He goes to click on another before stopping himself, and looking up. "The polite thing for me to do would be to ask if I could look at this stuff. Everyone else I know would freak out if someone grabbed their phone."

 

"Unlike everyone else you know, I don't _need_ to have this on me."

 

Bucky pauses expectantly. "...But you _do_ need it."

 

Steve's lips purse. "Well, _yes_ , for emergencies. But if I left my phone at home and went out somewhere, I wouldn't miss it. Would you miss yours?"

 

"Desperately. I might actually have to, y'know, talk to people I don't know."

 

"Horrifying," Steve deadpans.

 

"Or talk to people I _do_ know."

 

"Right."

 

"Or just... people. In general."

 

"Uh-huh."

 

"Also if I don't play _Temple Run_ at least once every twenty-four hours, all my bonuses reset to zero."

 

"I feel pity for you, you know."

 

Bucky grins and hands Steve back his phone. Steve takes it and spares Bucky a brazen light slap on one buttcheek before he sits down on the sofa. "If you don't want to help, that's fine. I'm sure I can figure out how to de-install it by myself." He side-eyes Bucky as Bucky flops down next to him on the sofa, giving a large and overblown sigh. "I'd have thought it'd be in your best interests to help me."

 

Bucky puts a hand over his heart and hitches a breath. "Wow... my first guilt trip from Captain America. This is a day for the history books."

 

Steve gives him a little smile. "Actually, that was pure Sarah Rogers, that one. It was all about the big sigh."

 

Bucky notices that Steve doesn't talk about his mother too much, even though they were obviously very close. The subject had come up in their previous text messages, but it never went too in-depth, and that was long before he knew who Steve was.

 

It doesn't matter that she died 11 years ago (for Steve) or a few lifetimes ago (for the world), he thinks it's still a painful topic.

 

"Baby Steve sometimes needed a guilt-trip, huh?" Bucky asks tentatively.

 

Steve stares at the screen of his phone without really seeing it. "Mostly when I got into too many fights. All she ever really had to do was sit in her chair, wrap her hands in her apron and sigh, and I was grovelling on the floor for forgiveness."

 

Bucky grins. "Well-played, Mrs Rogers, well-played."

 

Steve stares at his lap, a small, sad smile on his face, and Bucky doesn't want to see Steve upset. He nudges Steve's thigh with his knee.

 

"I'll help you uninstall, on one condition."

 

Steve looks up and arches a brow. "What?"

 

"We have a little peek at your matches first, see who else you were looking at."

 

Steve ponders the deal for a moment before agreeing. They sit together, shoulder-to-shoulder as Bucky holds the phone between them, poking and swiping at the screen.

 

He pauses for a moment, finger hovering over the glass. "I should say as well, that if there's anything on here you don't want me to see, just tell me. I won't ask any questions."

 

"It's fine," Steve says. "You can look at whatever you want."

 

Bucky gives Steve an exaggeratedly shrewd glance. "You realise that this is the nightmare of most humans between the ages of fourteen and sixty-four, right? Someone else having carte-blanche on their phone?"

 

"Maybe in _your_ century. Mine was not having enough to eat."

 

Bucky facepalms. "Oh god, here we go again."

 

"With the Great Depression and all."

 

It's Steve's absolutely favourite argument, and one he loves to bring up even when it's not relevant. Bucky's pretty sure Steve's only doing it because he knows it makes Bucky roll his eyes back into his head so far he can see his own optic nerves.

 

Bucky taps the phone deliberately, and the both take a look at the screen. He swipes to the page with all of the people Steve's matched with. There are a bunch of half-finished conversations, and a row of people along the top that he hasn't contacted yet.

 

The first thing Bucky notices is, like his own matches, there's a mixture of men and women.

 

"So how long had you been on Tinder, anyway?" Bucky asks as he touches one of the people to look at. "Or rather, how long were you on before you saw my profile?"

 

"A little over two weeks," Steve answers, shuffling a little closer to Bucky. "It was... an interesting couple of weeks."

 

Bucky chuckles ruefully. "I'll bet. And how did you find the whole 'dating by app' phenomenon?"

 

"Pretty weird. Some of the profiles are rather..." Steve searches for the right word. "Provocative," he settles on.

 

"Very diplomatic," Bucky commends.

 

"Maybe I should be 'Captain Diplomacy'," he jokes.

 

Bucky snorts. "Then you'd have a massive 'D' on your helmet, and I don't think I could ever take you seriously again."

 

"You don't take me seriously _now,_ " Steve gives Bucky a gentle elbow to his side.

 

"And you like that," Bucky returns confidently. He gives Steve a sidelong glance, who is smiling back at him.

 

"I do."

 

Steve has a way of imbuing his answers with simple honesty that Bucky often finds in short supply in the modern dating pool. It's refreshing, to say the least.

 

He clears his throat. "So... provocative, huh?" Bucky gets back on track.

 

Steve looks down at his phone screen and gives a little frown. "Yeah. I mean, it's not like I don't know what sex is, or that some people are just interested in it. There _were_ people like that back when I was growing up."

 

" _Shocking_ ," Bucky gasps in mock horror.

 

"It's just that more people seemed to want to find stability, too. The person they didn't just have sex with, but the one they wanted to _partner up_ with."

 

Bucky can't resist. "Even during the Great Depression?"

 

Without missing a beat, Steve nods. "Save on hot water. Take a bath with a friend."

 

Bucky laughs delightedly. "Okay so... Provocative profiles. I'm guessing you could pick the purely 'hook up' bios straight up?"

 

"Definitely. I think most people were fairly honest to the point of being brutal if they're using it purely for liasons."

 

"The gratuitous cleavage and mesh underwear shots gave it away, huh?" Bucky grins.

 

"I could see right through them," Steve nods gravely, and Bucky starts laughing so hard he wheezes. Steve has to pat him on the back, a small, amused smile on his face.

 

Eventually, Bucky regains control of his lungs and goes back to the phone. "May I?" he asks, finger hovering over some of Steve's matches.

 

"Go ahead," Steve says.

 

Bucky scrolls through the men and women listed. It's an interesting mix of people, all different ethnicities, varying in age from approximately twenty-four to thirty-five. Even though Steve said it was okay, when he chooses people to look at, he quickly swipes past the screen where Steve might've been having a conversation with them, to go to their profile and pictures.

 

"So what are your deal breakers, Steve. What's something that'll absolutely get you to swipe left?"

 

Steve looks thoughtful. "Well, if I thought they were a hook up profile, I tended to bypass automatically. Also anyone who left their bio blank. Or just filled it with emojis."

 

Bucky gives a tiny, self-satisfied smirk. "Go on."

 

"If they didn't smile once in any of their pictures, or did that stupid duck-face thing..."

 

"Good call," Bucky encourages.

 

"I found it really odd to be talking to so many people at once. And the knowledge that everyone I was talking to was probably talking to other people as well? It was a little tough to wrap my head around."

 

"I know the feeling."

 

Steve gives him a quizzical look. "Did you keep talking to other people after you started talking to me?" Bucky's face freezes and Steve pats his leg. "It's okay, I know how it works. I'm just curious."

 

Bucky presses his lips together. "I did for the first day or two? But seeing as we traded numbers really early and then moved to texting, I sort of... forgot to keep opening the app up."

 

Steve gives him a little grin that he reads as super-pleased.

 

Bucky goes back to Steve's phone and keeps scrolling through before he notices something. "Steve..."

 

"Yes?"

 

"There's a hell of a lot of brunets in your matches..."

 

Steve sits up a bit straighter on the couch. "I happen to think dark hair is very striking," he says, mock-defensively. Bucky holds up his hand in surrender, before combing his hand through his hair in an exaggerated movement. Steve rolls his eyes.

 

Bucky goes back to some of Steve's matches. They're... well, they're a good-looking crop of people. Bucky knows he's easy on the eyes and isn't necessarily insecure about his appearance, but can't help feeling a little lucky that Steve chose him.

 

An odd thought occurs. "Hey, did you ever meet up with anyone? You know, besides me?"

 

Steve shakes his head. "No. With some people the conversation dwindled, or it took a turn that I didn't care for. With others, they tended to want to meet up really quickly and... for obvious reasons, I had to vet people pretty thoroughly before I got to the stage of meeting them. I don't think I went longer than three or four days before someone wanted to meet up, so when I would put them off they tended to lose interest and stop talking to me."

 

"I can imagine," Bucky says. "Probably would've remembered seeing a TMZ report on 'I met Captain America on Tinder!'"

 

"Yeah. But in a way, that's part of why I kept talking to you? Not just because I enjoyed it, but you were just happy to chat without bringing up the meeting thing, and I ended up getting to know you... and _I_ got to be the one to ask _you_ to meet."

 

"And I totally turned you down, too" Bucky shakes his head. "Wow, ain't I a dope."

 

"Yes," Steve agrees gravely, "but I'll keep seeing you, anyway."

 

As they speak, Steve's phone chimes and the little flame logo appears on the top status bar.

 

"Ainsleigh has sent you a message, Steve," Bucky says expressively, his eyebrow cocking up rakishly.

 

Steve visibly cringes, and Bucky leaps on this immediately. "Ooohhh, who's Ainsleigh? What's her deal?"

 

Babushka jumps up on Steve's lap and begins pawing at his jeans. He takes to patting her absently. "Did you ever swipe right on someone accidentally and get stuck talking to them?"

 

Bucky tries desperately not to laugh. "Um, maybe once or twice."

 

"I sort of did it with this woman before I got the chance to read her whole profile thoroughly, and now she keeps sending me messages. I've not really replied, but she's not getting the hint."

 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Bucky swipes on Ainsleigh's profile. He scans the text, eyes widening with each sentence.

 

_Ainsleigh, 33_

_Let's be clear about this, I'm not looking for a hook-up or a casual date, I'm looking for marriage. No one under 6' or over 190lbs, please._

_I want a professional, career-orientated man, university educated. No tradesmen, or frivolous occupations. If we match I really do expect us to strike up a conversation and not sit there. No gameplayers._

_I'm very dedicated to my job as an investment banker, and am looking for a like-minded, driven individual. Match with me and you won't regret it._

Bucky gives Steve a gleeful look. "Oh. Oh Steve. You have to talk to this woman."

 

Steve puts his face in his hands. "I don't want to. She sounds like a praying mantis."

 

"What, you mean eat your head and lay eggs in your body to hatch?"

 

Steve nods mutely.

 

"Dude, you're _Captain America._ "

 

Steve doesn't look convinced.

 

Bucky chuckles as he flicks to her messages, where there's a very one-sided conversation going on. Steve's contributions are occasional, polite and succinct.

 

"You should tell her you're two-hundred pounds and a carpenter. Or an artist! See what she does."

 

"Isn't that kind of mean?"

 

Bucky makes a 'so-so' motion with his hand. "Maybe, but..." Bucky scans the messages where she's hunting for Steve's attention and sending him flirtatious gifs, "I dunno, she's giving me 'bunny-boiler' vibes. I'd '86' her."

 

"'Bunny boiler'?"

 

"Yeah, don't ever watch _Fatal Attraction,"_ Bucky advises. "Not if you like rabbits."

 

Steve points to his phone and stabs at the screen. "This is exactly why I want to uninstall Tinder," he says with a frustrated sigh, "I don't want to focus on anyone else right now." He retrieves his phone gently from Bucky's hands and types out a quick message to Ainsleigh.

 

_Steve: I'm very sorry, Ainsleigh, but I'm deactivating my profile as I've met someone. All the best to you finding your future husband. I hope he's tall!_

" _Now_ will you help me uninstall?" he asks, holding his phone out to Bucky. Bucky reads the message and makes a solid effort to keep the grin from overtaking his entire face. It's pretty hard, though.

 

"Sure," Bucky says, taking the device and heading straight to Steve's phone settings.

 

Steve watches quietly, before he pipes up. "I don't see you offering to show me any of your matches, you know. Think I'll get jealous?"

 

"Oh, I _know_ you would," Bucky replies. "Had some serious contenders there, and I'd love to show you, but..." he bites his lip and looks up at Steve through his eyelashes. "I deactivated my profile last week. Seems I met someone."  
  
***  
  
**_The One With The Cat Bribery_**

**_(Location: Bucky's Apartment)_ **

 

The doorbell rings, and Bucky opens the door to see 6'2" of actual studly superhero waiting to be let inside.

 

"Hey," Bucky grins.

 

Steve grins right back, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. "Hey," he says back, toeing his shoes off at the door, eyes slipping to the inside of the apartment.

 

Bucky lets him in and shuts the door, watching as Steve cases the place. He rolls his eyes.

 

"She's in the bathroom," he says, and Steve flushes a little red.

 

Sure enough, after finishing her ablutions in the kitty litter tray on the tiled floor, Babushka struts out like she owns the place -- which she kinda does. As soon as she lays eyes on Steve, however, she turns into the biggest dork-cat of all time. Gambolling up to him, and already purring like an outboard motor, she rubs her cheeks against his jeans-clad legs.

 

"Hello, Bushka," Steve coos, adopting the nickname Bucky uses for her. Babushka looks up at him with big, green eyes and meows pitifully. Steve sits and picks her up, placing her gently on his lap.

 

"Coffee?" Bucky asks.

 

"Please." Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny mouse toy he bought especially for her. Babushka instantly turns into a miniature hunter; crouching low and stalking up to Steve's hands.

 

Bucky and Steve chat about their day, but Bucky sometimes has to repeat questions when Steve gets too intense into the literal game of cat-and-mouse he has going on with Babushka.

 

Bucky sets the coffee down on the table in front of Steve. "Should I really be jealous as to who you're here to see, anyway?" he grumbles.

 

"You, of course, Buck," Steve replies. "Babushka can't work the coffee maker."

 

"If she knew that's all it'd take to keep you visiting, she'd learn." Bucky tries to sound surly, but it's really hard when his favourite little non-human is turning _Captain America_ into a massive pile of candyfloss.

 

Anytime Steve gets up to get a refill of a drink, or a snack, or use the bathroom, he comes back to find Babushka curled up in his spot, one eye open watching him. The big softie can't bear to shift her out of the way, so he ends up squishing closer to Bucky. Bucky doesn't mind, and Babushka ends up climbing over them both at intervals whilst they talk, even falling asleep in the centre of Steve's chest when he lies back on the sofa a little. Steve barely dares to breath, he's so happy.

 

When Steve leaves later, he finds one of Babushka's tinkly balls in the toe of his shoe. The smile he gives Bucky lights him up like a firecracker inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So randomly? Mesh underwear shots and the crazy lady's 'I'm here for marriage' profile are all things I've seen on tinder.


	3. Dating (weeks 3-4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 1)  
> * The One Where Size Does Matter  
> * The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would never be possible without my beta and best friend, Sarah. You work freakin' magic every single time. 
> 
> To clarify the timeline, the events in each chapter happen within the time period stated in the chapter title. So in chapter 2, those three scenarios happened within their first two weeks of dating (which started directly following the events of chapter 1). Now, in chapter 3, these are 3 scenarios taken from their 3rd and 4th week dating. :) 
> 
> Thank you once again for the comments, the kudos and the bookmarks, it makes me so very happy <3

**_The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 1)_ **

**_(Location: Avengers Tower)_ **

 

Steve and Bucky are hanging around Central Park, eating hot dogs and casting silly sidelong glances at one another, when Steve gets a call on his phone. He looks at the caller ID, frowns and promptly ignores it, only for the phone to continue ringing every two minutes for the next ten. With each successive ring, Steve's shoulders edge closer to his ears.

 

Bucky arches a brow after the fifth call. "You going to get that?" he says, taking the last bite of his hot dog and lobbing the foil and paper into a nearby trash can.

 

"I should," Steve mutters, "or I'll never hear the end of it." However, he still hesitates.

 

Bucky laughs. "You're not being rude to me; answer it."

 

Steve smiles at him, and next time the phone rings, he connects the call. It's a mostly one-sided conversation where Steve doesn't address the caller by name, and doesn't seem to be able to get a word in edge-wise. He does, however, agree to do something.

 

"Date cancelled on account of national emergency?" Bucky asks deliberately casually.

 

"Not by a long shot," Steve replies, "but while we're in Manhattan, would you mind if we took a side-trip somewhere?"

 

"Not at all. We're just kind of futzing around today, anyway."

 

And it's true; their day today has no structure apart from 'meet up' and 'flirt outrageously'.

 

Steve gives him the grin that melts a significant portion of Bucky's brain, and they make their way to the closest subway station. The southbound B train takes them most of the way, and Bucky enjoys the ride. Not because of the actual subway -- it's too noisy and smells like ammonia -- but because they find a seat in the corner and Steve's leg is pressed up against the length of Bucky's thigh, their shoulders brushing each time the train moves. They chat a little, but mostly just seem to both enjoy the fact that they're sitting together.

 

If all subway rides were like this, Bucky would never drive anywhere ever again.

 

When they get to street level, Steve makes a quick phonecall, informing the recipient that he'll be turning up with a friend, who will be required to pass security clearance. Bucky hasn't really bothered to ask what the destination is, but it becomes evidently clear after that conversation, and their subsequent direction of travel.

 

Avengers Tower stands tall and bright and slightly obnoxious and basically everything Bucky has come to expect from anything Stark's had a hand in building. Bucky gives a glance of trepidation up to the metal and glass as they cross the threshold and enter the foyer.

 

There's bustling activity, as Avengers Tower is still, in essence _Stark_ Tower, too, and still the home base of Stark Industries. Steve nods to some security guys behind a desk, but keeps walking towards the elevators in the back. Bucky follows at Steve's shoulder, looking puzzled.

 

"I thought I needed to go through some security clearance...?" he asks with confusion.

 

The lift doors shut behind them. Steve gives him a kind smile. "You're about to. JARVIS?" he addresses the room.

 

"Good afternoon, Captain Rogers," a sharp, posh-sounding voice with an English accent pipes through the elevator's speakers, and Bucky jumps. "Your companion is authorised for access to the laboratory level upon passing standard security checks."

 

"Of course," Steve says.

 

"Who the hell's JARVIS?" Bucky asks. He's looking in the corners of the elevator but hasn't detected any obvious security cameras. Hell, he's really good at spotting _hidden_ cameras, and he can't see a thing. A frisson of anxiety shoots down Bucky's spine.

 

"JARVIS is Tony's AI. He's built into the Tower and pretty much runs the place." At Bucky's arched eyebrow, Steve brushes the back of his hand against Bucky's. The touch is grounding. "He's actually pretty amazing."

 

"Thank you, Captain, I do try," JARVIS responds primly. The AI clearly turns its attention to Bucky. "Please state your full name and date of birth for voiceprint analysis and identification."

 

Flicking a glance to Steve, who nods encouragingly, Bucky eventually answers. "James Buchanan Barnes, 10th March, 1985."

 

There's a moment where in Bucky's mind's eye, the little circular 'thinking' colour wheel is spinning.

 

"Identity confirmed. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS responds.

 

Bucky starts uncomfortably. "I haven't been called that in a while."

 

"If you would prefer another title, I would be quite pleased to oblige," JARVIS offers.

 

"Just my name will be fine," Bucky says. His time in the Army has always been a source of pride, but that part of his life is over. The rank belongs to who he was, not who he is now.

 

"As you wish, Mr Barnes," the AI replies.

 

"How does it know about my rank?" Bucky asks Steve, _sotto voce._

 

"JARVIS has access to government and military personnel databases, he would've been able to access your record."

 

"Oh." Well, that makes sense. Anything Stark invented would probably be able to do that. "What about a security check? I would've thought someone would be waving a wand or a metal detector?"

 

"Unnecessary, sir," JARVIS responds. "I have already completed my physical scans. You are unarmed."

 

"What if I had a metal arm? Or a plate in my ass?"

 

"I would be able to detect those, as well. Also, I am pleased to see that your left scapula has healed well from its break approximately five years ago."

 

Bucky sputters and looks at Steve. "How does it know about _that_?"

 

"My scans have detected a slight calcification where the superior notch has re-knit."

 

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but finds his voice has gone. Steve gives him a concerned look.

 

"Thanks, JARVIS, maybe that'll be enough for now," Steve cuts in.

 

"Of course, Captain. Mr Stark is waiting for you in Laboratory Three."

 

The elevator goes blissfully silent.

 

"I know it's a bit to take in, I'm sorry I didn't think to warn you about JARVIS." Steve shrugs helplessly, moving a little closer so that their arms are pressed together. The tiny bit of contact once again helps Bucky feel more grounded. "It took me a while to get used to, but now he just feels like another person."

 

"Just omnipresent and watching your every move," Bucky answers.

 

"Something like that, yeah." Steve gives Bucky another one of his patented, encouraging smiles. "While you won't see his name on any tee shirts, JARVIS is as much an Avenger as I am. He's an invaluable part of the team."

 

"Thank you, Sir," JARVIS responds, and Bucky laughs because they _both_ jump that time.

 

"Also, he's nosey," Steve grins.

 

The elevator opens on floor sixty-four, and Steve takes a moment to re-orient himself before turning right. Steve makes sure to keep up the casual contact as they walk the corridor to a large glass-panelled room.

 

There's a woman standing in the corridor wearing a tailored dove-grey suit and holding a clipboard. She must be important; anyone holding a clipboard usually is.

 

"Ms Potts," Steve greets, with a large, warm smile.

 

She looks up, and the little frown creasing her brow immediately disappears. "Steve. How many times do I have to tell you to call me 'Pepper'?" she scolds lightly, and tilts her face up as he leans down to peck her cheek.

 

"I guess one more time should do it," he grins.

 

The vague inkling that Bucky should know who she is coalesces. Sure, Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, and responsible for putting out more of Stark's professional and personal fires than the FDNY.

 

Pepper's gaze shifts politely to Bucky. He can see her eyes immediately take in his proximity to Steve, how Steve's body is angled in towards his, like the overprotective asshole he is.

 

"You must be the recipient of additional security clearance," Pepper says, though there's no malice in her words. She extends her hand, and Bucky takes hold of it gingerly.

 

"I'm sorry for the intrusion. You must be the woman who helped Steve decorate his apartment. I knew it couldnt've been all him," Bucky smiles charmingly and gives her hand a gentle squeeze. It definitely works.

 

"That I am. You too must have impeccable taste to have noticed."

 

"Bucky Barnes, ma'am," Bucky introduces himself.

 

Pepper rolls her eyes and shakes his hand firmly in return. "Pepper, _please,_ " she insists.

 

"Unlike this guy," Bucky chucks his thumb towards Steve, " _I_ only need to be told _once_. Lovely to meet you, Pepper."

 

Steve frowns and makes a show of touching his chest. "Wow, Buck. If I had a heart, that'd really sting."

 

Bucky points at him. "Y'see what I have to put up with?"

 

Pepper nods in commiseration. "I know, trust me." Pepper cocks her head to the side. "'Bucky' is an unusual name."

 

"Nickname, really," Bucky answers. "I much prefer it to being called 'James'."

 

Pepper laughs lightly. "I can relate! Only my parents ever call me 'Virginia' now, and that's because they gave me life." They share a little chuckle together. "So Bucky, how do you know Steve?"

 

Bucky pauses for a moment, and gives a glance in Steve's direction. They've had a chat or two about this in the last couple of weeks. Of course some of Steve's friends already know about Bucky, but Bucky's happy to leave it to Steve as to who he choses to tell, and when.

 

Steve quirks his eyebrows at Bucky, and Bucky responds with a shrug which he hopes reads 'it's up to you."

 

It must be transmitted effectively. Steve turns to Pepper and ever so gently rests his hand on the small of Bucky's back. Bucky watches Pepper track the movement carefully. "Bucky's my date," Steve says with quiet confidence, then gives Bucky what he's coming to recognise as Steve Rogers 101 for 'smug bastard'.

 

Bucky huffs out a laugh and turns to Pepper. "I'm his date," he confirms with a winning smile.

 

"Oh, that's lovely!--" The attractive smile on Pepper's face at Steve's news morphs quickly into horror. "Oh. Oh _no._ You're on a date right now. And Tony's--" Pepper shakes her head and grips the clipboard tighter. "I told him not to bother you on your day off, and that his work could wait, but as usual, he didn't listen to _me_..." She turns to both men, sincere apology on her face and in her voice. "I'm _so sorry_ you've been interrupted."

 

Bucky shrugs. "It's okay, we were just in Central Park playing a rousing game of 'Top-knots and Man-buns'."

 

"I was winning," Steve puts in helpfully.

 

"Because he's cheating. A _lot_ ," Bucky retaliates.

 

Pepper raises an eyebrow, and links her arm in the crook of Bucky's elbow. "Clearly, you need to explain this game to me," she says, walking him down the hall.

 

"Did you ever play _Punch-Buggy_ as a kid?" Bucky asks.

 

"Sure, didn't everyone?"

 

Steve raises his hand. "Beetles weren't released until 1938 because Hitler stole the design from a Jewish engineer. So no, I didn't really play when I was a kid."

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Don't be unbearable, Captain Great Depression," he says, before turning back to Pepper, without missing a beat. "So it's like _Punch-Buggy_ , save for we're looking for men wearing their hair in buns, or women with their hair pulled right up on top of their heads. There's more of them than you think."

 

They enter the large laboratory, Pepper on Bucky's right arm, Steve flanking at his left. "And how was that working out for you?"

 

"Well, Steve is really good at being distracting, and I've probably got a bruise on my arm the size of Minnesota."

 

Pepper laughs lightly, and it's only when the background tinkering of the room stops that Bucky realises where he is. Across the other side of the room, a dark-haired man with a sharp beard is eyeing their entrance critically. In his hands, he's holding one of Steve's helmets, with its wings and white stencilled 'A'.

 

Bucky's only ever seen Tony Stark on television and never in person, so he'd never realised how the man has a presence that fills up more than his actual physical space, but there it is.

 

"Hey, Cap. Pepper." He eyes Bucky analytically. "Man whom I've never met before, walking with Pepper." Bucky rears back a little. He wasn't sure what kind of greeting he might receive, but that definitely wasn't it.

 

Stark then promptly proceeds to ignore Bucky. "Steve-o. I've re-jigged your comms that were hitting interference in Venezuela. HYDRA were using some pretty intense jamming signals to isolate your frequency, but all that should be fine now. We'll be able to warn you next time you're about to run into a wall. Literally."

 

Bucky gives Steve a sidelong glance. "You crashed into a wall... Did you make a hole?"

 

"Only a little one," Steve says, and Bucky shakes his head.

 

"Stealthy," Bucky comments, and Steve pokes him with his elbow.

 

Pepper clears her throat. "Tony, this is Bucky Barnes."

 

Tony's eyebrows quirk, and he turns his body fully towards the three of them, focusing on Bucky. "'Bucky', huh?" he says, and Bucky already hates how his name sounds coming out of Stark's mouth. "Sounds like a pet jackrabbit."

 

Pepper looks embarrassed, and Steve shakes his head. Bucky simply folds his arms across his chest.

 

"So what do you do, Buckster? Let me guess..." Stark play-acts thinking carefully. "Underwear model? Sexy bartender? Male host at a strip joint?"

 

"You trying to say you find me sexy?" Bucky says without really thinking.

 

Tony isn't flustered at all. "Only in that overly-obvious way. With no subtlety."

 

"You'd know about subtlety, right Tony?" Steve puts in wryly.

 

"Hand on my heart," he says, adopting a long-suffering expression that wouldn't look out of place on an icon of a Saint.

 

"Well, too bad for you," Steve looks to Bucky and gives him a little grin, which Bucky can't help but return. "Bucky's my date, find your own."

 

Bucky internally winces as the words hit home for Stark. "Ohhhhh?" he says, pushing himself up from the lab bench he's leaning on, perking up. " _Capsicle_. You getting some?"

 

Steve doesn't get the chance to answer before Bucky cuts in. "Not really any of your business."

 

"I feel like it kinda is," Tony answers. "So where does one find a Bachelorette contestant like yourself?"

 

"Why, you in the market?" Bucky snipes.

 

"Gentlemen," Pepper tries to intercede, focusing a rather impressive glare on Tony. Of course, he ignores it.

 

"Tetchy," Stark clicks his tongue. "It's just that we've been wondering about Captain America's social skills for quite a while now. Dear old Dad always said he went down like a lead balloon with the ladies."

 

"I don't know about Captain America's social skills," Bucky says slowly, "but _Steve Rogers_ makes do just fine. And last time I checked; not a lady."

 

"Not even when you and he--"

 

" _Tony_ ," Pepper cuts him off harshly, and Stark just sits back with a shrug.

 

"Whatever. So, you and Steve, huh?" Stark drops his tools and walks casually towards Bucky. "You know, as far as the ol' Star Spangled Man With A Plan went, I figured his gosh-darned morals would go for more... substance over surface."

 

Bucky's hands, resting on his biceps, tighten. "Really." He feels Steve just behind his left shoulder as a solid presence, but he doesn't cut in. Which he's thankful for, in all honesty. He doesn't _need_ Steve to butt in and fight his battles for him, not when it comes to mouthy runts the likes of Tony Stark. Bucky doesn't care how much money the guy has.

 

Stark nods enthusiastically. "Yeah. So what do you do?

 

"Why don't you just ask your AI?" Bucky suggests. "It's done all the background checks."

 

"That's entirely no fun at all. So what is it? Secretary? Starbucks barista in one of those uptown stores? Lifeguard? Daytime TV actor trying to break into Broadway?"

 

 

Bucky gives Steve an incredulous glance, who seems to be stifling a smile. The little shit is enjoying this. Bucky's had to listen to his share of complaints about one of Steve's 'unnamed coworkers' -- before Bucky knew who he was talking to, of course -- so he's probably amused as hell at this little exchange. Unfortunately, not everyone is.

 

"Tony, you're being obnoxious," Pepper shakes her head irritably.

 

"I'm being the exact _right_ amount of 'noxious', thanks Pep," he puts in. "If Rogers wants to bring a random into the Tower, I should be able to question him all I want."

 

Stark clearly has quite ridiculously low standards of self-preservation if the burning fire in Pepper's eyes is anything to go by. Bucky feels his temperature go up by a few degrees. He's tempted to _really_ let Stark have it, but Steve's presence right behind him channels his reaction somewhere else.

 

Bucky shrugs, palms open and facing up. He decides instead to drop a couple of truth bombs on Tony Stark.

 

"You got me. I work with a bunch of child therapists, and run a youth outreach program for troubled and disadvantaged children over a few Brooklyn school districts."

 

Pepper's annoyance at Stark is immediately replaced with piqued interest. "Really, Bucky? That sounds wonderful."

 

Stark blinks once, looking vaguely like he's temporarily forgotten how to process the English language. "Uh..." Obviously not the vapid answer he expected.

 

Bucky continues, wanting to go for (hopeful) full devastation. "Before that, I was career Army. Rangers, in fact. That was a while ago, though."

 

"How long?" Stark asks.

 

"Long enough to be in it when you were producing weapons. Sometimes even for the other side," Bucky says, before cheerfully adding; "You were still getting called the 'Merchant of Death'!"

 

There is a very pregnant pause in which the only sound that can be heard in the laboratory is the gentle hum of an air conditioning unit.

 

"Oh." Stark actually stops speaking, which is something of a relief, as Bucky is sick and tired of hearing his voice. His grin stays frozen on his face, long enough for Stark to actually start to squirm a little. Bucky's never lost a stare-off in his life, he's not about to start now.

 

Steve, who's been silent up until this point, places a hand on Bucky's shoulder, but talks to Stark. "I think you've interrogated him enough, Tony. Thanks for looking at my comms, though. Maybe I can give it a thorough test when I'm in next, in a more official capacity?"

 

The question shocks Tony out of his sudden brain-hiccup, and he breaks eye contact with Bucky. "Sure thing, Cap."

 

Steve's fingers squeeze Bucky's shoulder slightly. "Let's head out," he says in a low voice.

 

Bucky spares Steve a bright grin. "Let's."

 

He turns to Pepper. "Really lovely to meet you, Pepper." Bucky takes her hand and squeezes it gently, before turning to Stark. "Nice to meet you, Tony. You're a lot shorter in person, though." Bucky manages to squeeze one last jibe in before Steve hustles him out of the lab.

 

Steve yanks on Bucky's hand until they reach a little further down the corridor. One look at Steve's face tells Bucky he can't decide whether to scold or congratulate him. If it were Bucky's choice, he'd go for the latter.

 

"I can't believe you said that to him," Steve says, voice husky with laughter.

 

Bucky shrugs. "He was purposefully being a dick to the both of us."

 

"That's Tony for you," Steve replies. "But as much as he _is_ a dick, I work with him and he's not totally... abhorrent. You might've let cooler heads prevail."

 

Bucky steps back from Steve with an incredulous look. "You're telling me I should've backed off? _You?_ The world's leading -- _historical,_ I might add -- authority on _not_ backing off and being a hothead?"

 

"Marvel at the source," Steve says with a tiny smile. Bucky rolls his eyes and relaxes his stance a little. His words are firm, but their delivery lacks the heat he'd give real argument. That and Steve reaches out to touch his bicep, before running his hand down the length of Bucky's arm to tangle their fingers together.

 

Steve's phone chimes twice in succession. He digs the cell out of his pocket with his free hand, and flips open the messages. A grin forms at the first, getting larger at the second.

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Steve wordlessly shows his phone screen, flicking between the two messages.

 

_Tony: Jesus, Cap, assholes recognize their own kind. If you wanted to date one of us, you should've just said. I could've made an exception for you. Workplace romance, schworkplace romance._

_Pepper: I like him. [thumbs up]_

Bucky unsuccessfully stifles a grin. "I'm surprisingly okay with both of those messages. But did Stark actually just type _schworkplace_?"

 

Steve grins back at him, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. It's probably pretty vanilla as far as kisses go, but it lasts longer than a peck, and while there's no deep tongue involved, Steve does clamp Bucky's lower lip with his and tug oh so gently as they part. Bucky's insides do a rather magnificent flip.

 

Steve's hand not holding his rests at the crook of his shoulder, gently cradling the base of his skull, and it doesn't seem as though he's going to move it anytime soon. "Want to get out of here?" he asks.

 

"Please," Bucky answers. "My snark has burnt off the hotdogs and I'm hungry again. Also, I intend to win round two of 'Top-knots and Man-buns'. You know, despite your cheating."

 

Steve's hand slides to his shoulder, letting the bulk of his arm fall in a comfortable weight across the breadth of his back. They walk down the corridor and back to the elevator. "Disgusting how you accuse a National Treasure of cheating. Practically un-American."

 

"Gee thanks, Senator McCarthy. You think I have a Red under my bed, too?" Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

Steve makes a show of thinking, tapping his finger against his lips obnoxiously. "You have a box spring, right? I don't think Natasha could fit."

 

Bucky whistles. "First of all, that's a terrible joke. Secondly, oh _damn_. If she heard you say that, she'd probably kick your ass, Rogers."

 

"You're right. You may have to protect me."

 

Bucky shakes his head. "Ohhh no. Leave me out of feuds you start with your highly trained combat-ready teammates. There's only one Avenger I'm interested in engaging."

 

Steve affects a pout that looks rather ridiculous on him as they enter the elevator. "I thought you were going to have my back."

 

"I do. Just not in superhero conflicts. Look, you want to date a heroic asshole? Take Stark up on his offer. Me? I'm just a regular, run-of-the-mill asshole. No frills."

 

Bucky gives Steve a look out of the corner of his eye. Steve is watching him intently, almost to the point of making him squirm. A beatific smile graces his lips. "I'll take 'regular, run-of-the-mill asshole' for $200, thanks Alex."

 

Bucky laughs as they re-enter the foyer. "You're never allowed to watch _Jeopardy_. Ever again."

 

Steve's hand once again goes to the small of Bucky's back. "Noted."

***  


**_The One Where Size Does Matter_ **

**_(Location: Steve's Apartment)_ **

  
In the interests of not eating Bucky out of house and home, Steve invites him around to his apartment to eat and watch movies.

 

Bucky's not sure whether he expects some ultra-modern Stark-style palatial apartment, or whether he's going to be walking into some kind of weird 1940's time capsule.

 

Turns out it's neither. It's a decent-sized brownstone in Brooklyn Heights with a great view. It's bigger than Bucky's, but it's not as luxurious as Steve could probably afford. It is, however, very _Steve_.

 

There are big windows to let a lot of light in, and one corner of the living room acts as a makeshift studio. A draftsman's desk and an easel are tucked into the wall near the window. There's two bedrooms, one slightly smaller than the other. While the décor isn't cutting edge, it isn't terribly old-fashioned, either. Steve tells him that the infamous Pepper Potts of Stark Industries helped him with the interior.

 

There are clean lines, but there's an older charm to it as well, with the bookcases lining the walls, stacked with reading material, and the record player in the corner. There's a dock for an iPod as well, but it's nice to see those old touches. Steve says he misses the static crackle when the needle touches the vinyl, so he likes to play older music on the record player sometimes.

 

On the walls -- some framed and some unframed -- are pieces of art, ranging from old pieces on yellowed paper, to some that looks fairly recent. Bucky is drawn to a three-quarter pencil portrait of a woman, looking to be somewhere in her forties. She shares some very significant features with Steve, the shape of the eyes, turn of her mouth. Steve comes to stand behind him. "Your mom?" he queries. Steve just nods. "She's beautiful," Bucky murmurs. He doesn't get a verbal answer, only a light squeeze on his shoulder.

 

There are a few others of buildings and street scenes on the walls, which Bucky admires as well. Also on the walls there are some old photographs and memorabilia that Steve says was his from the 30's and 40's that the Smithsonian gave back to him from their exhibit.

 

There is a photo of Steve from his original SSR file. Bucky looks at it with a raised eyebrow. Like all American kids -- especially those from Brooklyn -- he learnt about Steve in school and did the requisite projects on him. But he'd never visited the DC exhibit nor done anything since Steve was defrosted. It's been a while since he's seen the picture of skinny Steve.

 

"I remember this one," Bucky says, pointing to the photograph. "It was in one of my text books in school."

 

Steve's cheeks colour slightly. "Wow, that's embarrassing to know."

 

"What, that I was looking at your picture when I was fourteen?" Bucky grins.

 

"You just had to make it weird, didn't you?" Steve bumps into his shoulder gently. The smile falls away to be replaced with a thoughtful expression. "I like to keep it around, actually."

 

"Why is that?" Bucky asks.

 

"So I remember where I came from," Steve replies simply. Bucky senses there's more to it and waits it out. "If you think about it, I've only spent about six years looking like... well, like _this_ ," Steve says, eyes on the picture. "Most people forget that I spent twenty-five years being pretty small.

 

"The serum changed the outside, but it didn't change the inside, not really. Sometimes I still _feel_ small, and get confused when people treat me like a big guy."

 

He looks at Bucky, abashed. "Sorry, that's kind of weird."

 

"Not at all," Bucky says. It makes sense, really. Steve's never inelegant when he moves, generally graceful and steady to a fault. But there are times when Bucky will catch him standing or sitting in a certain way -- usually when he's alone -- that speaks of someone curling up to make themselves a lot smaller. Shoulders curve forward, knees get drawn in. As soon as someone joins him, Steve extends out, almost unwittingly. But in those brief moments, Bucky catches a glimpse of a much younger, smaller Steve Rogers.

 

Steve chooses a movie to watch from Netflix based on one of Bucky's many recommendations, while Bucky sits himself on Steve's plush sofa. When Steve joins him, he sits close, but not too close.

 

Bucky's arms are around the back of the sofa, his legs stretched out towards Steve.

 

And he has an idea.

 

"Hey, c'mere," Bucky says.

 

Steve shuffles a little closer. "Not good enough," Bucky gripes, pulling him over further until Steve's head is resting on his chest. With a tentative gesture, Steve curls one arm around Bucky's back between him and the sofa cushions, stretching his legs out behind him.

 

When his head is comfortably in the centre of Bucky's chest, Steve lets out a little sigh.

 

"Everything okay?" Bucky asks in a low voice.

 

"I feel small again," Steve replies.

 

"That a good thing?"

 

Steve gives him a little chuckle and moves in what Bucky would suspiciously class as a nuzzling manner. "Oh yeah."

 

Bucky grins and drops one arm down to curve around Steve's shoulder. They stay like that for a long time.

 

***  


**_The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 2)_ **

**_(Location: Neighbourhood café)_ **

****

It's a beautiful morning, and Steve and Bucky walk to a favourite café of Steve's for some brunch. Bucky has to work in the afternoon, and Steve's got to test some field equipment at Avengers Tower just after lunch. To be a shit, Steve asks Bucky if he'd like to head to the Tower again, and Bucky politely declines (by flipping him off).

 

Steve's still laughing about that, and let it be said that while Bucky appreciates Steve's friends and co-workers, he's not necessarily in a great rush to meet them just yet.

 

Which is why when they arrive at the café and Steve immediately walks to a booth already occupied, Bucky tenses slightly.

 

The black man sitting at the booth is tall, and handsome, and smiles easily. He pulls Steve into a hug and slaps him on the back a few times. Bucky stays back a few conservative paces and observes.

 

"Good to see you, man," the stranger enthuses warmly, and Steve grins in reply. Both pairs of eyes then drift to Bucky. Steve beckons him forward, sliding a hand to his elbow.

 

"Sam, this is Bucky," Steve says, and Bucky notes the tentative cadence. Steve's slightly nervous, that doesn't bode well. Bucky suddenly feels the weight of expectation upon him, and it makes his neck itch.

 

Sam gives him a once-over, open and friendly smile in place. "You're the famous Bucky Barnes, eh?" Sam offers his hand and is polite enough to wait patiently while Bucky slowly makes the decision to take it.

 

"I'm _Bucky_ , don't know anything about being famous, though," Bucky responds, shaking Sam's hand slowly.

 

"Oh, to hear this one talk, you hung the moon," Sam says, and releases Bucky's hand, gesturing back to the booth he'd been sitting at. Steve looks at Bucky, but Bucky insists Steve to sit first, so he can be on the outside.

 

He's (mostly) well-adjusted, but he still doesn't like being boxed in.

 

Bucky gets settled in the booth and watches Sam catalogue each one of his movements in minute detail. He knows it, because he's doing it right back to Sam, taking in his bearing (military, definitely), how he observes Steve (good friend, cares about him), and his beverage of choice (tea, he must be stopped).

 

It takes a few moments, but a miniature lightbulb goes off in Bucky's head. "Sam..." he says, quite before he realises he's speaking, "Sam Wilson? You're an Avenger, yeah?"

 

"Newly minted," Sam says proudly.

 

He turns to Steve and gives him epic side-eye. "So you don't actually have any _normal_ friends, do you?" he asks, and it comes out a touch sharper than he intended, and Steve meets his eyes with some level of confusion.

 

His brow creases as he goes to answer, but Sam interrupts. "Hey, on the normalcy scale of zero to Thor, I'm practically negative-three."

 

"Except you're a superhero," Bucky hits back.

 

"I _do_ have normal friends, but Sam's my _best_ friend," Steve tells Bucky, and he really does sound perplexed now. "I wanted you to meet him."

 

"And I'm _happy_ to, I just--" Bucky stops and blows air sharply from between his lips. He doesn't know how to explain himself.

 

Bucky's eyes slide to Sam and he bites his lip. He really doesn't want to be having a conversation like this with Steve in front of Steve's bestie. It's not a fight, or even an argument, it's just--

 

"Oh, _I_ see," Sam says, and it's in a tone that is so self-assured, Bucky's almost worried. Almost.

 

"Well, could you draw me a picture?" Steve says, a pinch of frustration leaking into his tone.

 

Sam fixes Steve with an unwavering gaze. "You didn't tell Bucky I was coming, did you?"

 

"Thank you!" Bucky blurts out, only to clam up immediately.

 

Steve, bless him, _still_ looks confused. "But Sam's great! I didn't really think it was that important."

 

"And that's really flattering, Steve," Sam says kindly, "but how many soldiers -- or ex-soldiers, for that matter -- do you know that actually _like_ surprises?"

 

And when the penny drops, it's not so much a penny as it is a ten-tonne weight.

 

"Oh shit," Steve says and Bucky internally punches the air that Steve swore. Because it's never not funny when Steve swears. He gives Bucky the most horrified, hang-dog look. "I'm sorry. Sam asked to meet the same time we were going out, and I thought it'd be great to introduce you." His shoulders slump dramatically. "I thought you might get nervous after the Tony thing, and--"

 

"Wait wait wait," Sam cuts in, "he met Tony already? You met Tony?" Sam directs the second question to Bucky, and Bucky nods.

 

"I had to stop by the Tower earlier in the week to check some things out, and Bucky came with me," Steve explains.

 

"And he got subjected to _Stark_? Before _me_? Man, that's just cruel." Sam leans back in the seat, shaking his head in a mystified fashion.

 

Steve shuffles closer, and his shoulder brushes Bucky's. "He actually handled himself really well. Went toe-to-toe with Tony."

 

Sam's face lights up. "Yeah? Tony can be hard work. I mean, I love the guy, but sometimes I just don't _like_ him, y'know?"

 

Under the combined weight of Steve's flattery and Sam's understanding, Bucky finally starts to loosen up, the faint coil of tension around his spine easing.

 

"Well, in between the know-it-all AI and Stark pegging me alternately for a host at a strip joint or a barista, it was an interesting twenty minutes."

 

"I'll bet. What did you come back at him with? From what I've heard from Steve, you've got a pretty smart mouth on you."

 

Bucky gives Steve another sideways glance, though this one is a lot kinder than the first. "You talkin' about me, Rogers?" he asks with a small smile.

 

Steve gestures to Sam dramatically. " _Best friend,_ Buck."

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Right, right."

 

Sam rests one elbow on the back of the seat behind him. "I know Tony in full flight can be pretty intimidating. How'd you knock him down a peg?"

 

"Bucky told him he looked shorter in person!" Steve blurts out, what Bucky would describe as a ridiculously shit-eating grin on his face.

 

Sam's eyes bug out, his mouth falls open. Then he starts laughing, and it's a full-body laugh that is completely, one hundred percent infectious. Bucky feels Steve jerking beside him as he starts his own round of guffaws, and in the face of such laughter, Bucky really can't keep a straight face, either.

 

"Oh man, can we get JARVIS to playback the security feed? It would've been amazing. What did he do?"

 

"I don't know," Steve wheezes, "we didn't stay long enough to find out!"

 

Sam starts laughing again, which sets Bucky and Steve off. Bucky puts his hand up to his face, elbow leaning on the table, laughing helplessly, and Steve ends up pressing his face into Bucky's bicep, hand on his thigh. He can actually _feel_ Steve's laughter-tears wet the fabric on his shirt.

 

They laugh together for a few moments, and it's good, really good. Sam catches Bucky's eye and it sets off another bout of snickering.

 

The dam finally breaks on any remaining apprehension that Bucky had when he realised Steve was springing a friend on him. A waiter comes over to take their order, which seems to be enough to feed a small army.

 

Bucky takes it upon himself to get to know Sam; the guy is obviously an important part of Steve's life, it would be a smart thing to give him the time of day. But he quickly finds out that having time for Sam and listening to him are the easiest things in the world.

 

Sam is an absolute delight; he's amiable and level-headed, but in no way _boring._ In fact, his 'regular guy' insights on the craziness that surrounds Steve's life are downright hilarious. He asks Bucky about attending his local VA, but not in a guilt-tripping way like others have done in the past. Bucky tells him outright he only goes semi-regularly to meetings, but he's in regular contact with his counsellor and calls when he has issues.

 

"I have a shitty night or a shitty day from time to time. It's not great, but I'm not too stubborn to call Benjamin. I mean, what's pride going to get me? A fucking nervous breakdown, probably."

 

Sam nods in approval. "That's a real healthy attitude to have. We all need help sometimes, there's no shame in that." And Bucky definitely doesn't miss the very pointed look he shoots Steve.

 

It turns out Steve has talked about him to Sam, but there's still plenty of things Sam _doesn't_ know, and that's good. It's nice to know that Steve doesn't relay the details of every single conversation they've ever had to his friend.

 

Their food and coffee -- dear, sweet giver of life -- arrives, and the three men attack it with gusto.

 

"I don't know how he can be using his Sunday-dinner manners and _still_ manage to shove _that amount of food_ in his face," Sam marvels.

 

"I'm a miracle of modern science," Steve says, ruining the illusion by saying it with his mouth full.

 

"I don't know how we're seen in public together," Bucky shakes his head. "That was truly shameful."

 

Steve swallows before he answers. "I'm a national treasure," he says.

 

"You keep saying that like it _means_ something," Bucky counters, "when really, you using it as an excuse to chew with your mouth ope-- _Steve_ , you're spitting croissant on me."

 

Sam watches their back and forth with a bemused expression before turning to Bucky, busily wiping flakes of pastry off his shirt. "History books and the news reels just didn't do him justice, did they? They were pretty silent on the fact that Captain America is wildly sarcastic and has terrible table etiquette."

 

"They also said that I had a torrid affair with Simone Simon while in France, and _that_ never happened," Steve put in.

 

"Who's Simone Simon?" Sam asked.

 

"French movie actress."

 

Bucky whips out his phone and looks her up in Google image search, and whistles. "Shame. You could've done a helluvalot worse."

 

"I like the brunettes," Steve gives Bucky a private smile, a hand coming to rest on Bucky's thigh, "and she _was_ gorgeous, but I never had the good fortune to meet her. Too busy spooning Dum Dum in a draughty barn somewhere on the way to a HYDRA base. Also, he snored."

 

Steve's frank admission gets Sam and Bucky laughing again, which leads into a fun Q & A with Steve about working with the Howling Commandos.

 

Bucky enjoys the line of chatter. In the few weeks he's known Steve, this particular subject had yet to come up. Of course it was war, but Steve focuses less on that and more on stories of friendship and camaraderie about the first racially integrated unit in American antiquity. One look at Sam's enraptured face tells Bucky he's not alone in being fascinated at listening to amazing historical accounts from a first-hand source.

 

He doesn't realise he's doing it at first, but Bucky leans into Steve, who hasn't taken his hand away from Bucky's thigh since he put it there. Now they have points of contact on his leg, hip, arm and shoulder. He likes feeling the muscles of Steve's arm flex as he moves, the twitch of his fingers just barely squeeze his leg in response to Bucky laughing at something.

 

It feels right for Bucky to move his hand to sit on top of Steve's, which is still on his thigh, and so he does it. He does, however, still flick a glance to the side to try and gauge his actions. Steve doesn't stop telling his story about Gabe Jones to Sam.

 

But he does turn his hand over to be able to hold Bucky's hand and interlace their fingers together.

 

A warmth settles somewhere near Bucky's solar plexus. It's a pretty fantastic feeling.

 

They're having such a good time, that when Bucky looks up at the oversized clock on the wall, he makes a displeased face. "Steve, it's nearly one."

 

Steve frowns. "I have to get going," he says sadly, even though he makes absolutely no move to get up.

 

"You do," Sam confirms, "or Tony's gonna have JARVIS redial your cell every minute until you arrive."

 

They slide out of the booth, groaning atrophied leg muscles cramp. They settle the bill and walk to the door of the café. Sam gives Steve one of those huge hugs again, and this time when he holds his hand out to Bucky, Bucky doesn't hesitate in shaking it.

 

"Hope it didn't end up being too bad, meeting me without any warning," Sam says, and Bucky shrugs.

 

"It ended up being okay, I'll admit."

 

Sam leans in conspiratorially. "If he wants to introduce you to someone else, get him to work up to the big ones. You've already met Pepper, so I'd suggest Barton or Banner next. Start off easier, work your way up." He turns to Steve. "And maybe warn a guy ahead of time, too." Sam winks, and Steve rolls his eyes, but nods all the same.

 

With another farewell, Sam leaves Bucky and Steve alone. Steve gives him a gentle smile and takes a step closer. "So it was okay? You didn't mind?"

 

"I liked Sam, if that's what you mean," Bucky responds, "I _did_ mind being surprised by his presence."

 

Steve does sad puppy face like nobody's business. "I'm sorry about that, I really did think you'd be nervous. It was a bad move on my part."

 

"Yeah, some tactical genius _you_ are," Bucky scoffs, and starts laughing when Steve gives his shoulder a little push, hard enough that he steps back a pace to keep his balance.

 

Steve gently puts his arms on Bucky's biceps to move them both out of the way of the door when some other patrons get up to leave. They end up standing off to the side, and Steve doesn't take his hands away.

 

"But we're all good, though?" he asks in a low voice, and Bucky detects the underlying real concern.

 

"Yeah, we're all good," Bucky confirms, moving forward to bump deliberately into the wall of Steve's body. The answering grin is nearly blinding, but the shrill ringing of Steve's phone completely spoils the moment.

 

"Shit," he curses under his breath as he digs the device out of his pocket looks at the number. "It's started."

 

Bucky grins. "Better get a move on, champ," he says, slapping the side of Steve's hip, perilously close to his butt.

 

Steve pulls Bucky towards him so they're almost toe-to-toe. His hands slide up to cup Bucky's face, and he presses a sweet, and entirely too-brief kiss against Bucky's lips. "Call you tonight?"

 

"After seven," Bucky says, wishing the kiss could've gone on one or two or twenty seconds longer.

 

Steve slides his hands down to Bucky's biceps before giving them a squeeze.

 

"Just one more thing, though?" Bucky says, and he can feel Steve's breath still hot on his face.

 

"Mhm?"

 

"If my next scheduled play-date involves the Widow, and you _don't_ warn me? I'm fucking killing you and dumping your body in Jersey."

 

Steve gives him a beatific smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Top-knots and Man-buns' is a game I invented whilst on a troop as a biker scout for the 501st Legion with my friend. We were at a shopping centre, in the doorway to a particular store, and every time we saw either a top-knot or a man-bun, we had to punch one another. I did lead early on, but I swear JimCricket was cheating. Rude. I blame everyone but me. Still, we were wearing armour, so the punching didn't hurt too much ;)
> 
> Also, this is Simone Simon:  
> http://vallewton.org/lewtonsite/_imagery/-simone-simon/simone-500-lightgrey.jpg


	4. Dating (weeks 5-6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Smartass Carnie  
> * The One With The Medal  
> * The One With The Best-Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, you should know that this wouldn't be possible without Sarah. She spends so much time making sure that I'm pushing every button I should be pushing, I'm incredibly grateful for her efforts. Seriously, I would never be as happy with these chapters as I am without her ministrations. To know Sarah is to know love <3
> 
> Chronicling Steve and Bucky's dating adventures in wks 5-6.
> 
> I'm posting this today because tomorrow in Australia and NZ is Anzac Day, which is our very important day for remembering and honouring veterans. I was thinking of that a lot when writing The One With The Medal. 
> 
> The logistics for custody settlement and schools as well as the rifle stuff... I made it up. It sounded good. This is fiction, so I hope you're just gonna go with me on this. Fiction! Fiction is awesome! :D

**_The One With The Smartass Carnie_ **

**_(Location: Coney Island)_ **

 

It's something of a cliché to do, but it's cliché for a reason; if you're from Brooklyn, and dating someone, at least _one_ of those dates should be at Coney Island.

 

It's been maybe three years since Bucky's visited, on leave at home before shipping out for his last tour. He was with his sister, Rebecca, and was a little hit-and-miss at handling crowds and loud noises at the time. But now he does fairly well; even better when he's with someone.

 

The last time he was here on a _date_ , however, he was in high school.

 

It's Steve's idea to go, but Bucky lets him hang before he agrees, mainly because it's so much fun to hear Steve's increasingly elaborate reasons for wanting _to_ go.

 

"It's been a long time since I've been there. Literally. A generation has passed."

 

"I don't _know_ , Steve..." Bucky shakes his head slowly and deliberately.

 

"There are rides my pre-microprocessor brain has yet to even comprehend!"

 

"But it's so _kitschy_." He drawls the word, unsure if it's too much and Steve's cottoned on to the fact he's getting totally _had_.

 

"I will buy you hot dogs until you are sick."

 

Bucky gives Steve a languid smile. "You've got yourself a deal, Cap."

 

And so Friday night finds Bucky and Steve at Coney Island.

 

It's like he remembers, really. Loud, smelling of sugar and popcorn and salt air mixing with a few less-than-aromatic odours... But Steve's face under the black peaked cap pulled low as they enter, is the picture of happiness. Bucky's quickly finding that Steve's happiness is more contagious than the flu.

 

Steve slips his hand into Bucky's and interlaces their fingers together as they walk, and Bucky finds it far more interesting than the last time he was there.

 

True to his word, Steve buys Bucky as many hot dogs as he can comfortably eat -- two and a half -- before he starts to feel weird, with Steve finishing off his own three and Bucky's leftovers.

 

He then offers Bucky some hot buttered popcorn, but Bucky has to decline. He really _is_ going to hurl if he eats anymore. However, the popcorn is decidedly better when he tastes the salt on Steve's lips as they trade soft kisses under the brim of his hat in the line for the Fun Wheel. A lady behind them clears her throat very loudly at their PDA, and Steve and Bucky break apart, snickering like teenagers.

 

And, much like teenagers, they spend a good deal of time on the ride appreciating each other instead of their beautiful surroundings.

 

They exit the Fun Wheel and Bucky waves cheerfully to the lady who made her displeasure known, deliberately wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

 

"You're a menace," Steve says with a guffaw.

 

"Pot, meet kettle," Bucky replies.

 

Still hand-in-hand, they make their way to the sideshows and games. The carnies and show-folk love yelling out over the blaring music, trying to tempt people to spend money to play, often using flattery, guilt, shame or a combination of all three to try and score a buck.

 

Steve leans down close to Bucky, lips brushing his left ear. "Not much about this has changed, except inflation," Steve remarks, hot breath ghosting Bucky's skin.

 

Bucky points to a very elderly man with a set of lungs on him that would put a foghorn to shame. "I think that guy was here last time you were, too."

 

Steve laughs, before something else distracts him. "C'mere," he says determinedly, tugging Bucky's hand until they veer off to the side.

 

"Where are we-- oh," Bucky says as Steve pulls him over to the shooting gallery. Bucky shakes his head at Steve's stupid, grinning face.

 

"Want to give it a try?" he asks.

 

"Eh, you know these things are rigged, right?" Bucky answers, bumping shoulders with Steve. "The rifles are always weighted incorrectly, and the sights are crooked."

 

Undeterred, Steve squeezes his hand. "This is the part where you show me how good you are and beat the odds." He nudges Bucky forward, even as Bucky digs his heels in. Bucky likes showing off to someone he's interested in as much as the next guy, but the game is stupidly expensive, the guy behind the counter looks skeezy, the prizes are awful, and it's usually rigged.

 

"Step up, Boss," the skinny man behind the shooting gallery counter gestures towards Bucky. Sharp eyes take in their joined hands, and a smile that's large, but slightly disparaging -- and definitely doesn't meet his eyes -- gets plastered on his face. "Don't be shy! Wanna win something for your girlfriend, Chief?" He nods towards Steve, and Steve's brow creases immediately. "Prove you've got what it takes! Be a real man."

 

The hawker clearly has no idea who he's speaking to. Bucky almost feels sorry for him.

 

Almost.

 

Steve steps forward with a grim expression and looking as though he's about to say something, when Bucky stops him with a hand to the centre of his chest. "Want I should win something for you, cutie?" he asks, turning away from the game to face Steve.

 

Steve looks down at him, and Bucky makes a very deliberate move with his eyes back towards the carnie, mouth curving in a wicked smile. He'll always take getting even over getting mad.

 

Catching the smile, the frown on Steve's face eases. He squeezes the hand that Bucky's placed on his chest, and gently strokes the back. "Do you think you can?" he asks, just loud enough for the carnie to catch it.

 

Bucky affects a casual shrug and turns so that Steve's arm is wrapped around him. Most of their PDAs, even if in public, are still sort of private affairs. Bucky makes a point of wrapping Steve's arm around himself deliberately, watching the man track their movements with badly-hidden disapproval. "Sure thing, dollface. What d'you want?" He makes an expansive gesture towards the stall full of crappy merchandise.

 

Steve rests his chin on Bucky's shoulder as he peruses the toys, definitely in on the game now -- though Bucky knows he's probably not one hundred percent clear on what the game actually _entails_. "That one," he points suddenly, gesturing to an oversized foam cowboy hat hanging right next to the target wall. It has a huge brim, a spotted cow print black and white hatband, and a plastic sheriff's star on the front.

 

Bucky inwardly cringes. It's so very, _very_ ugly, but he keeps up appearances. "It's yours," he promises, before forking out the eight dollars -- _eight fucking dollars_ \-- to the greasy individual. The man spirits the money away into one of the many pockets in the ratty utility vest he wears. Without further ado, he picks up one of the rifles, breaks the barrel, and begins loading pellets.

 

"You've got five shots, Sport. All five bullseyes wins you pick of the stall. Three gets you anything from the centre wall, one and you can pick from the sides."

 

He snaps the barrel back into place and hands it to Bucky.

 

Bucky gets an odd sense of déjà vu when he holds the rifle, uneven wood surface itching in his hand. He studies the instrument in his hands. It was probably a good piece once upon a time, but it's not been looked after very well. Even though the barrel seems well oiled, the stock is badly battered, and showing signs of wear. His eyes don't miss some tiny scrape marks on the metal where it's been tampered with, presumably for game purposes. He runs his thumb gently across the indentation.

 

"Are you gonna shoot with it, or kiss it, Slugger? Five shots makes you a winner."

 

Bucky snaps back into the room. He gives a quick glance behind him to know Steve is standing at his shoulder -- close, but not too close -- and he exhales. The weight of the rifle is slightly off; not evenly balanced like it should be. Bucky adjusts his stance to compensate, and looks through the sight.

 

Sure enough, everything's marginally off. He could find out how much by popping off a random shot, but he doesn't want to waste it. Bucky looks at the wall of targets. They vary in shape and bullseye size, some of them are even moving.

 

It's been a while since he's done this, but he plays up any hesitation purely for his audience. He rolls his shoulders, squints his eyes at the targets, and takes note of the location of each one he's going for.

 

Decisions made and trajectories calculated, Bucky exhales slowly, squeezing off the trigger just at the moment where he completely runs out of breath.

 

There's a distinct lack of a metal 'ping'. Bucky looks at where he hit, and it was slightly off from his intended target. "Damn," he breathes disappointedly, and the carnie gives him a melodramatically sympathetic smile.

 

"Not to worry, tough guy, you've still got four to go." The constant stream of condescending nicknames is also meant to unnerve him, but Bucky's not phased, even if they are slightly annoying.

 

Instead he nods, and over the next minute, squeezes off another four shots.

 

All the targets remain intact and in place.

 

Bucky lowers the rifle, and the carnie can barely contain his glee. "What a shame, Slick. I really thought you had it in you. Most people hit at least _one_ of the targets," he gestures behind him. "Still, you can win a consolation prize."

 

The man points to the front of his booth where there's an array of cheap, plastic toys and pencils. There's an eraser painted up like Steve's shield that catches Bucky's eye, but he's making a point, and the point requires him to be awesome and devastatingly cool.

 

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks. "I hit every target." He points to the hat hanging by the wall. Tall, Dark and Skeezy gives him an odd look and moves closer to the hat to check it out. When he does, an unintended swear falls from his lips, and he takes it off its hook.

 

There are five pellet-sized holes in the hat, each going through a different black spot on the hatband.

 

"I was meant to shoot at what I wanted to win, right, fella?" Bucky says earnestly, cocking his head to the side. He feels Steve step close enough now that he's making contact with Bucky's body from shoulder to hip, right down his left side. The contact makes him stand up that little bit straighter, even as he presses into it.

 

"No, but--" The guy readjusts his grimy cap on his head. "What the hell?"

 

The carnie looks at them, then, _properly_ takes them in this time. Bucky notes the way his eyes skate over the breadth of both Bucky's and Steve's shoulders, the relaxed-but-ready stance and the utterly ridiculous size of Steve's arms.

 

He also notes that Bucky's still gripping the rifle in his right hand. Bucky's fingers tighten on the forestock and he shifts his arm just enough to make the muscles of his bicep flex.

 

The man's eyes flick to Bucky's face, and he subtly quirks an eyebrow up. It's a very low-key dare to challenge, but one the carnie reads without fail.

 

His fake public smile falls away, and for the first time the hawker looks annoyed, uncomfortable, and slightly concerned.

 

Bucky looks up at Steve, who is grinning so hard back at him. "Nice shooting, Sergeant," he says, squeezing Bucky's shoulder.

 

Bucky's lips twitch at the nickname. "Thanks, Captain. Hope I did you proud!"

 

The carnie stands up stiffer and blows an exasperated jet of air from between his lips. "Take it, just take it. I can't give it away now," he mutters, thrusting the hat at the two of them. Steve grabs it, and Bucky hands the rifle back with a sweet smile, where it's snatched back with a lot of unintelligible muttering.

 

They move from the stall to find a place to stand out of the way of the thoroughfare. Steve studies the hat carefully, taking in the perfect holes.

 

"You're good," he comments, and Bucky gives a little shrug.

 

"Not bad for absolutely no prep. The rifle was beyond shitty, too. So tricked out it wasn't even funny."

 

"You know," Steve says slowly, "if you were ever interested in stepping into the SHIELD rifle range for an afternoon, I could see what I could do."

 

Bucky smiles, but shakes his head. "If I want to, I can hit up a civilian rifle range. I don't need to go to SHIELD to do that. But thanks for the thought."

 

"You're _really_ good, though," Steve insists. "Why did you even say 'damn' at the beginning, anyway? You hit every one," he asks.

 

Bucky turns the hat over to show one hole that's on the border of the black spot, instead of punching through the dead centre. "First shot," he explains. "It was a test. Had to figure out how far the sight pulled to the left."

 

Steve starts laughing, and he's having trouble stopping. Bucky can't find it in himself to complain, until Steve tears off his cap puts the foam hat on.

 

It's _huge_ , even on him, and it looks absolutely fucking ridiculous.

 

"Steve, no."

 

"Steve, _yes_ ," he insists, pulling it down further. "I'm going to wear this for the rest of our date."

 

"You look like Woody from Toy Story. Only more... what's the word..."

 

"Handsome?" Steve asks.

 

"Dorky," Bucky corrects.

 

"Somebody's poisoned the waterhole!" Steve proclaims, and Bucky loses it. He starts laughing so hard his eyes water.

 

Somehow, he finds himself leaning into Steve, face tucked into his chest, laughing until his throat hurts and his eyes sting. It's a really good feeling, even better when Steve's hands come to rest on his hips. Steve's laughing too, but he's not thrown quite into the disarray that Bucky is.

 

Bucky's laughter tapers off, but it takes a while. He pushes up from Steve's chest but makes absolutely no movement any further away from him. They've seen each other a number of times over the last month since they met in person, but most are somewhere a little more secluded, a little more private.

 

Somehow this feels like it's a turning point, like it's their first _proper_ date. He knows it's not, but it's so clichéd it's hitting scarily close to rom-com territory. Bucky doesn't know if he's ever been on a perfect date, but this'd probably be the nearest he's gotten in his adult life, at least.

 

Nothing's felt like a hardship, or strange and awkward. They've been able to enjoy each other's company without worrying about any outside influences, even if sometimes the politically correct and/or slightly homophobic crowd made an appearance. It wasn't anything they couldn't handle, and they didn't dampen the mood.

 

In fact, looking up into Steve's smiling face only a few inches away from his, Bucky's hard-pressed thinking about _anyone_ else at the moment.

 

The brim of the hat is so huge it shades both Steve and Bucky when they're standing so close together. "You know what the hat is good for?" Steve asks, breath tickling Bucky's cheek.

 

"You're going to tell me," Bucky says, grinning.

 

"Mhm," Steve responds in a quiet voice. "Camouflage."

 

He then leans in, taking one hand away from Bucky's waist to cup his face, and kisses him.

 

And it's true; the hat completely shields their faces from the outside world. It's like they're in their own private bubble, and the noises of Coney Island and the people around them fade into the background. Bucky curls his arms underneath Steve's to curve around his shoulder blades, bringing their chests together.

 

Instead of the series of shorter kisses, it's one long one. And as kisses go, it's a _doozy_. Steve's lips are soft, but they slot firmly against Bucky's mouth, tongue brushing at his lower lip and making his nerve endings tingle. And yeah, Bucky's had deeper kisses, but this one doesn't have to be deep to be _awesome_.

 

Which it most certainly _is_.

 

Steve's nose nudges against his cheek when he breaks the kiss, exhaling heavily. "There's a snake in my boot," he breathes against Bucky's face, and that terrible line shouldn't be sexy, or cute.

 

But there you have it.

 

"Is that a euphemism for anything?" Bucky laughs, trying to get his breath back.

 

"Sure, if you're dirty," Steve responds, before brushing his thumb across Bucky's cheekbone. "But I'm _Captain America_ ," he finishes.

 

"Paragon of virtue, huh?"

 

Steve smirks, and Bucky knows _exactly_ what's coming. "Ever since--"

 

"--The Great Depression. Yes, Steve, of course." Bucky looks heavenwards, but can't quite keep the fond smile off his face. He leans forward and presses a short, but very sweet kiss, against Steve's lips.

 

"Come on," Bucky says, pulling on Steve's hand, "I want to see if you can keep that hat on while we ride the Ghost Train."

 

"Is _that_ a euphemism for something?" he asks guilelessly. Bucky _might_ entertain that Steve's being sincere, save for tiny quirk of his eyebrow that speaks volumes.

 

The biggest volume being titled 'Steve Rogers is Fucking With Me'.

 

"Oh, for shit's sake, Steve." Bucky shakes his head. "Paragon of virtue my _ass_."

 

 

**_The One With The Medal_ **

**_(Location: Steve's Apartment)_ **

 

"Have you found it yet?" Steve calls from the bedroom.

 

"Nope," Bucky replies from the living room. He opens the drawer again and sifts through it. Nothing.

 

"Try looking in the coffee table drawers."

 

"Steve, if you ever treated your shield like you treat your remote control, the world would be in serious trouble."

 

Steve pokes his head out of his bedroom. "Never happen. My shield is by the door."

 

Bucky straightens up and points to the side of the sofa, where Steve's shield is _actually_ resting. "You were saying?" he deadpans.

 

Steve pauses, the little muscle underneath his jaw working, before he disappears back into the bedroom. "You moved it!"

 

"Sore loser," Bucky mutters, knowing there's a decent chance that Steve's heard him anyway.

 

He moves to the far side of the coffee table and opens the other drawer. There are assorted papers, what looks like a birthday card, some old copies of _TV Guide_ and _Time_ _Magazine_ , the remote control, and a blue velvet box with battered corners.

 

Bucky retrieves the remote control before getting side-tracked by the box. It looks old, with the brass edges taking on tarnish, and doesn't seem to fit in with the other contents of the drawer.

 

Putting the remote on the table, Bucky picks up the box and runs his fingers across the velvety top. He bites his lip, knowing he shouldn't pry, but also knowing Steve just doesn't seem to _mind_ him prodding about. That shouldn't make it okay, but before he knows it, curiosity is getting the best of him.

 

Bucky walks absently to the other side of the coffee table and flops on the sofa, before opening the box.

 

Its hinges squeak as it opens to reveal a gold five-pointed star topped with an eagle, surrounded by a wreath and hanging from a blue ribbon. Bucky's eyes widen involuntarily, and he swallows audibly.

 

It doesn't matter that he's never seen one of these in person before; he knows exactly what it is.

 

The Medal of Honor sits unassumingly in his palms... the highest award for bravery in the United States. Bucky never expected to be in a position where he's holding one.

 

He hears Steve's footsteps exiting the bedroom. Even if he could get it back in the drawer and shut before Steve entered, he wouldn't. "It's awfully quiet out there and I can't hear any gloating, so I assume you haven't found--"

 

Steve stops speaking abruptly when he sees what Bucky has in his hands. Bucky looks up to apologise, but Steve doesn't seem angry. If anything, he looks... troubled.

 

"I found the remote," Bucky says quietly.

 

Steve doesn't answer straight away, all he does is sit next to Bucky and look down at the medal.

 

"Not the only thing you found," he says eventually. It's not a harsh comment, despite Bucky thinking maybe he deserves it.

 

Bucky turns towards him, holding out the medal dumbly. "Steve, I didn't mean to--"

 

"It's okay, Buck. It's okay." He punctuates the words by placing a large, warm hand on Bucky's shoulder. The rigid tension that had begun to build when Steve entered the room ebbs.

 

Bucky lowers his hands and continues to stare at the five gold points, the embossed word 'VALOR'. It's so tempting to run his fingers across the letters, but he can't bring himself to physically touch the metal. Steve moves from where he's in contact with Bucky's shoulder, resting one closed fist in the palm of the other hand.

 

It is silent for a long moment.

 

Bucky doesn't know what to do, he feels like the box is burning a hole through the flesh of his palms. He's not sure if Steve picks up on this, or whether he just wants to take back his property, but he holds his hand out for the box. Bucky hands it to him immediately, but can't quite tear his eyes away from the dull shine of the gold.

 

Steve, too, seems hypnotised by its contents.

 

"The Army awarded it to me posthumously -- or so they thought -- after I crashed the _Valkyrie_ ," Steve says presently.

 

For some reason, as Steve looks down at the medal, Bucky gets the impression that the medal is much larger than the man. "Normally they're presented to next of kin, but I didn't have anyone left, so the Smithsonian took it for their archives." Steve lowers his voice towards the end, almost as though he's speaking to himself, rather than anyone else.

 

Bucky's not sure what so say, so he doesn't say anything. Instead, he shuffles a little closer and places his hand on Steve's thigh. Steve reaches down and grips his fingers painfully tight, but Bucky doesn't flinch or otherwise give any indication of discomfort.

 

"When I was found and revived, some historical society started up a petition to have the medal re-presented and given back to me. They made enough noise that the Smithsonian and some White House representative got in touch with me about a ceremony."

 

Bucky's brow furrows. "Okay, it's not like I was the biggest Captain America fanboy or anything but... I don't remember seeing you get the medal awarded by the President. I mean... the networks usually report that stuff. Even Fox."

 

Steve huffs out a laugh, before he grows serious again. Large shoulders are hunched around his ears, and Bucky gets the distinct feeling that Steve's unconsciously trying to make himself small again. He shrugs and, noticing the posture, Steve deliberately tries to loosen up. He presses his lips together in a firm line, tongue darting out to moisten them. "I declined the official ceremony. Even told the Smithsonian they could keep the Medal for the exhibit, but they insisted I take it. Apparently the Historical Society wasn't going to let them off the hook until I had it, so it was just easier to give it to me. They still have plenty of mementos for the displays."

 

"So you didn't meet the President?" Bucky asks. He doesn't know anyone who'd turned down an award from the Commander-in-Chief. He knows, if given the opportunity, he'd definitely meet him.

 

"Not for that. I went to an unrelated function about six months later, and he met with me privately for a few minutes. The whole medal thing came up then."

 

Bucky looks at the medal in Steve's hands, and then back to Steve. "You are completely free to not answer the question, but... why did you turn down the ceremony?

 

Steve heaves a sigh. It takes him a few moments to gather his words before he can answer. He hasn't looked at Bucky since he took possession of the medal, and even now, seems unable to tear his gaze away.

 

When he finally does speak, the words are slow and deliberate. Steve's had a lot of time to ponder the answer, even if he's never said it aloud, as Bucky suspects.

 

"So much of my life is public record, or written into books. When I woke up again, everything's on Youtube or TV or Facebook to be replayed over and over.

 

"I didn't want to relive the worst day of my life in front of the President and all those television cameras."

 

Bucky's fingers twitch in Steve's palm and suddenly, he feels so _stupid_ for not thinking of that.

 

He remembers from school, from when Steve was defrosted... Captain America fearlessly jumped on a Nazi plane loaded with bombs and heading for American soil. He couldn't change its course, so he crashed it.

 

But that's not exactly the whole story.

 

Steve -- _his_ Steve _\--_ crashed a fucking plane into the ice and never thought he'd be around to hear people talk about it like it was brilliant, or stupid, or pick apart his reasons and strategy.

 

So of course, if Steve went to a ceremony like that, he'd be forced to listen to the story once again, being retold by people giving second and third accounts according to records, coloured by layers of patriotic heroism that would only seem bigger and more outrageous after time... then afterwards subjected to the endless amount of people dissecting his actions, his expressions -- from news networks to entertainment shows, they'd all do it -- hell, whole _websites_ would probably crop up with screen captures of each little moment.

 

He'd become a propaganda tool all over again. An exploitable image macro. A fucking _meme_.

 

"It was the worst day of my life to date," Steve reiterates with quiet resolve, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts, "I've spent enough nights thinking about it to give it time of day in front of TV cameras."

 

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand in return. Steve snaps the box shut, leans forward and tosses it the short distance to the coffee table. He flops back on the sofa and finally looks at Bucky, giving his hand a gentle tug.

 

No further encouragement needed, Bucky leans forward and rests his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve pulls their joined hands to the centre of his chest, pressing his cheek to the top of Bucky's head. They stay like that for a while, not speaking, just holding one another.

 

Bucky often forgets that so much of Steve's life was lived before he was even born. He wasn't birthed into the information cesspool that is the modern era.

 

Because Steve ends up just being so... well, so _Steve._ So comfortingly ordinary and delightfully _extraordinary_.

 

It makes Bucky appreciate... well... _everything._ He huffs out a sigh and shifts in Steve's embrace, rubbing his cheek against Steve's cloth-covered chest in a move that he may've unconsciously adopted from Babushka.

 

"What are you thinking?" Steve asks softly, fingers curling around Bucky's a little tighter.

 

"I'm thinking we're going to watch _Milo & Otis_ instead of _Watership Down_ now," Bucky remarks with rueful grin.

 

"Okay... anything else?" he prods.

 

"Nothing much," Bucky muses, "I just keep on forgetting I'm dating a real-life hero."

 

Steve cringes at the statement. "About the _Valkyrie--_ "

 

Bucky pushes himself up off Steve's chest. "Who said anything about the _Valkyrie_? You're a hero because you do brave things, sure, but you also admit that some shit sucks, and is hard to deal with."

 

"That doesn't feel brave."

 

"Trust me, it's one of the bravest things _anyone_ can do."

 

"Huh," Steve says.

 

Bucky reaches over Steve's body to grab the remote control. When he settles back down, he manoeuvres Steve to the front end of the sofa cushions and slots behind, draping his right arm over Steve's narrow waist. He begins pressing buttons idly, getting Netflix working.

 

Steve lays his arm over the top of Bucky's. "So if you don't think of me as a hero when we're dating... who _do_ you think of me as?"

 

Bucky nearly wants to laugh and the sheer trepidation of Steve's tone, as though after everything, he is _still_ unsure about who Bucky sees. He affects a shrug. That's the easiest answer in the world.

 

"Just Steve," he says.

 

One thing Bucky has learnt about Steve is when he really smiles, he smiles with his whole body. So even though he's staring at the back of Steve's head, he can _feel_ the glow of happiness begin to radiate out of the blond's very pores. It's confirmed when Steve half-rolls on his back to look up at Bucky.

 

The half-cocked eyebrow is an invitation, and Bucky plans on accepting. He leans down to press his lips against Steve's in a lingering kiss.

 

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Steve says when they separate, lips parted, face betraying guileless surprise.

 

"I don't know," Bucky says, "What if I told you you've got the greatest ass I've ever seen?"

 

The corner of Steve's mouth curls in a smile that lights up his eyes. "Okay, second nicest."

 

 

 

**_The One With The Best-Laid Plans_ **

**_(Location: Bucky's work)_ **

****

 

Bucky shuts his computer monitor off with a world-weary sigh. The day that wouldn't end finally has.

 

It's been a tough week. Another outreach centre in an adjacent district has closed, and Bucky's branch has -- or at least, tried to -- pick up the slack in their absence. It's meant long hours and new case files and meeting dozens of new kids, all the while still making time for his current roster. And they're understaffed, as it is. The past five days has seen him reading case files, conducting interviews, and doing his best to fit new kids into his current groups. It's meant a hell of a lot of short lunch breaks taken at his desk.

 

With Steve in multiple briefings for some big international summit thing he's attending, they've pretty much been relegated back to phone and text chat. While communicating like that is a normal part of their routine, their dating has been progressing steadily forward, so to take a step back like this is a little frustrating.

 

Not tonight, though.

 

Steve leaves for Geneva early tomorrow morning, and he has a few hours free this evening. Considering the Geneva gig is going to last at least five to seven days, not including travel time, he's really looking forward to having a nice, early dinner with him, then spending a bit of quality time watching a movie together.

 

And if that quality time _also_ includes plenty of making out, so be it. The thought makes Bucky smile.

 

Bucky checks his desk once again: Inbox empty, outbox full, files stacked neatly, data entry done. He's still got his kids from the local school for a Saturday afternoon but there's nothing resembling office work to worry about until Monday morning.

 

It was worth the hard slog to get all of those tedious jobs out of the way.

 

Grabbing his keys, Bucky turns his table lamp off and slings his messenger bag across his shoulder. "Dee? I'm ready to lock up," he calls out.

 

Denise doesn't answer straight away, and Bucky finds it odd because she was only in the next room not even a minute ago. "Dee," he calls again.

 

The mystery is soon revealed as Denise returns to the back offices, a young man with her. His dirty blond hair is mussed, jacket spotted with the rain that's been falling for the last half hour, and a duffel bag over his shoulder. His mouth is set in a grim line, brows drawn together.

 

"Tyler?" Bucky blurts out, gesturing for them both to enter quickly. Tyler stumbles forward and Bucky grips his shoulders to inspect him. The boy's eyes meet his for a moment before they settle straight ahead. "What are you doing here?" The fifteen year old doesn't seem to be hurt physically, just looks a bit bedraggled and miserable. Bucky runs a hand through Tyler's hair, scruffing it up.

 

"Came home," he says with a sniff, fingers tightening in the strap of his bag.

 

"But you moved to Jersey with your mom a month ago!"

 

"I hate Jersey," Tyler says with vehemence, and Bucky, being the professional that he is, successfully stifles a snort of humour. Now is _not_ the time to laugh.

 

"I hear ya, buddy, but you seem like you're a man on a mission." Bucky eyes the duffel deliberately. "Going on a trip?"

 

Tyler pauses before he speaks, grinding his teeth. "I'm moving back to Brooklyn with my dad."

 

"And does _he_ know this?" Bucky asks pointedly.

 

Silence. Tyler looking him squarely in the chest, not in the eyes.

 

Bucky lets a jet of air out of his lips and catches Denise's eye. She nods. They both know they're not getting out of the office now. Bucky shucks off his messenger bag and leaves it on his desk chair.

 

"Come with me, pal," Bucky says, laying a gentle hand between his shoulder blades and leading him into one of their meeting rooms. They're bright and cheerful, and are full of comfy furniture.

 

Bucky ushers him inside, staying at the door to speak to Denise in a quiet voice. "He's in my inactive files, under 'Tyler O'Neal'. Parents are going through a divorce and he's moved to Jersey with his mom while everything goes through the courts. Dad is still here in Brooklyn. Her updated contact details should be there, can you try getting hold of her first?" Denise nods, and Bucky smiles. "Thanks, Dee."

 

"You owe me," she tells him.

 

"I _always_ owe you," he replies with a grin.

 

Tyler is sitting on one of the couches, duffel clutched on his lap. Bucky drags a dining chair from the little table off to the side and sits it in front of Tyler backwards. He slings his legs over it, propping elbows on the back rest.

 

They're both quiet for a moment, before Tyler breaks the silence.

 

"You calling my mom?" he asks despondently, still not making eye contact with Bucky.

 

"You know I have to," Bucky replies. "She's probably worried sick about you."

 

"I want my dad to come pick me up," Tyler says.

 

"How come you came here instead of going straight to your dad's?" Bucky asks, redirecting.

 

"I dropped my Metro Card," Tyler whispers dejectedly. "Couldn't take the subway anymore and I was closer to here."

 

"How 'close' are we talking?"

 

"Maybe twelve blocks?"

 

Bucky sighs and rubs his eye. "T, that's a really long way to go by yourself."

 

Tyler's chin juts out defiantly, even as his bottom lip trembles. "I just want to go _home_ ," Tyler reiterates, only this time, his voice is a lot less sure than it was.

 

Bucky gets up immediately from the chair and sits on the sofa next to him. As precocious and grown-up he's always appeared, the kid drops his duffel to the floor and wraps his arms around Bucky's chest. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Tyler," Bucky murmurs in a soothing voice, "I'll get you home. I promise."

 

"But not to Brooklyn," Tyler sniffles. Bucky doesn't directly reply.

 

Bucky pats him on the back and can't help but compare this Tyler to the one that attended his programs.

 

The only reason he entered the outreach in the _first_ place was his home life got strained due to Mr and Mrs O'Neal's impending divorce, and his grades took a sharp nosedive. He'd started off a little combative and argumentative, but soon began enjoying the challenges set, and was making some great inroads.

 

Bucky's been helping where he could, and scholastically there was a gradual upswing reported from his school, but then the divorce started to really hit into high gear. Mrs O'Neal moved out of the family home and in with her sister in New Jersey, taking Tyler with her.

 

Tyler's dad is a good guy, and still in Brooklyn, but an erratic work schedule with lots of afternoon and evening work prevents him from consistently being able to care for Tyler after school. They see each other on weekends, but weekdays he's in Jersey with his mom at the new school.

 

Through sniffles and gasps of breath, Tyler tells Bucky that he hates his new school and doesn't have any friends. He misses his old school, his neighbourhood. He even misses the other kids he used to do Bucky's program with.

 

Bucky just holds him and listens to him until the sniffles, complaints, and hitched breaths even out. He pushes away from Bucky eventually, wiping his nose with the back of one wrist.

 

"Feel better?" Bucky asks, and he receives a little nod.

 

There's a gentle knock at the doorframe. Bucky looks up to see Denise waiting.

 

"Your phone's been buzzing away in your bag, and there's a call from a Steve on line two for you. Shall I tell him you're busy?"

 

Steve. Shit.

 

Bucky looks at Tyler, catching his eyes. "You mind if I take this call? I'll only be two minutes, but it's okay to say 'no'."

 

Tyler sits up a little straighter. "I'm okay," he says, and his voice no longer has the waver in it.

 

"Okay," Bucky smiles at him and ruffles his hair. "I'll be right back. Oh," and he leans in conspiratorially. "I have it on good authority Dee has a packet of hidden RingDings in this room that she thinks I don't know about. Want to see if you can find 'em before I get back?"

 

Denise gasps. "I heard that, Barnes!"

 

"You were meant to," he smiles sweetly.

 

Tyler perks up a little and stands. Satisfied he's not abandoning his charge, Bucky exits the room.

 

"You owe me," Denise says yet again, and Bucky really, really does.

 

"Put it on my tab, I'm good for it," Bucky replies. He exits the room and walks to his desk. "Any word from his mom?"

 

"I got through. She'd just realised he was missing and was going a little nuts. Very glad he's safe and is on her way, but it could be a while. Rush hour plus rain," Denise says, and Bucky cringes.

 

"Okay. Try the number for his dad. Hopefully he can get to one of his parents' homes tonight." Denise nods and heads back to her own desk, while Bucky slings his bag onto the desk and sits down.

 

There's a blinking light on his phone, and Bucky picks up the receiver. "Steve?" he says.

 

"Bucky, hi," Steve replies immediately, and he's not imagining the relief in his voice. "You wouldn't happen to have forgotten anything by any chance, would you?"

 

Bucky takes a quick look at the time and winces. It's just after six, and he'd told Steve he'd be at the apartment at five-thirty. "I'm so sorry, Steve," he apologises, "I've had one of my former kids run away from home and kind of turn up on the doorstep."

 

"Oh no," Steve responds, and Bucky can't help but think it's helplessly cute that he goes from ribbing him to instant concern. "Are they okay?"

 

"I think so. Trying to get in contact with his parents now, but one's stuck in Jersey--"

 

"Ugh."

 

"I know. The other's in Brooklyn, we're trying now."

 

"Good, good." He pauses for a moment. "Is it entirely selfish if I ask how long do you think it's going to take? I'd still really like to see you tonight."

 

Bucky tries to stop the goofy grin, but it's hard. He's grateful no one can see him. "Not at all. Look, I don't know how long Tyler might need me, but I'll keep you updated and let you know the second I get out. I really want to see you tonight, too."

 

"Okay," Steve says, and he sounds happy. "Just... maybe ignore the three or four text messages I sent beforehand. If you haven't already seen them."

 

"Are they embarrassing?" Bucky asks.

 

"More like... vaguely insulting and derogatory about your time management skills," he replies.

 

Bucky shakes his head. "How are you even a role model. You're awful."

 

"I ask myself the same question all the time," Steve replies. "Let me know how you fare, okay?"

 

"Of course," Bucky promises. "See you soon."

 

Bucky takes out his phone and quickly scans Steve's ridiculous text messages with a grin, before pocketing it.

 

Denise is still trying to get hold of Tyler's dad -- no answer -- or his aunt -- voicemail full -- when Bucky finishes the call with Steve. He leaves that with her, and heads back to the meeting room.

 

It's in slightly more disarray than when he left, but Tyler sits cross-legged on the couch, a packet of RingDings in his lap. He looks decidedly happier than when Bucky left, but sugar will always do that.

 

Bucky sits with Tyler and eats a RingDing, who has calmed down enough to talk some more. Apparently his living situation in Jersey isn't ideal; his cousins are older and don't want to share, he struggles to be heard, and feels alone. So he took matters into his own hands.

 

Eventually Denise pokes her head in the room. "Can I talk to you for a second, Bucky?"

 

"Sure." He looks over at Tyler, who waves him off imperiously.

 

They convene outside the door. "I _finally_ got in touch with Tyler's dad," Denise informs him, "He's working his crappy hours but has begged off the job early to come pick him up. All that construction in the south is going to delay him, though."

 

"Shit," Bucky mutters.

 

"And..." Denise trails off, chewing her bottom lip. "I'm wondering if you really need me here."

 

"Trying to get outta work, Dee? That's very unlike you," Bucky gives a little smile. "What if I had plans tonight?"

 

"Unless your plans were your tenth wedding anniversary, I win."

 

Bucky's eyes widen. "Oh, fuck. Why didn't you _say_ so?"

 

She gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Tyler needed help."

 

And as much as it is personally sucky... "Okay, both parents are on their way. I've got a psyche degree and am also a highly trained former Army operative. I think I can handle this."

 

"Are you sure?" Denise asks. "I really will stay if you think I need to."

 

"Na, I'll be okay. Go." He nudges her towards to door. "Have a happy anniversary. Your husband's a lucky man."

 

"Oh, I know," she says with a grin, before leaning in to kiss Bucky on the cheek. "Thank you."

 

Denise collects her bag and heads for the door. Just as her hand hits the knob, Bucky calls out. "Hey, Dee?" He grins when she turns around. "Think we're even now?"

 

She gives him the sweetest smile in return. "Replace my RingDings and it's _tabula rasa_."

 

Bucky's still chuckling when he re-enters the room. The time is now seven-thirty.

 

He watches Tyler polish off the last of the packet of Ringdings, licking his fingers clean, and his stomach gurgles loudly.

 

"Hey T," he says, and Tyler looks up, "Have you had dinner?"

 

Bucky ends up taking Tyler to the little diner a block and a half away, but not before they write a note and stick it to the door. Just in case either of Tyler's parents show up while they're out, Bucky's number is on the paper so they can call.

 

The diner does all-day breakfasts, and Tyler chooses waffles. Bucky's not one to judge on food choices. He orders a side of bacon to tide him over until he has dinner with Steve.

 

Because he _is_ having dinner with Steve tonight, damnit.

 

Steve texts Bucky intermittently through dinner, and Bucky keeps him updated. Tyler appreciates the meal and thanks Bucky for it, earning him a few more gold stars in his mental file. He also doesn't seem to mind Bucky taking a few moments to answer messages from time to time. It's not necessarily rude, but he doesn't want Tyler to think that he's not being attentive.

 

The conversation is entertaining, to say the least.

 

_Steve: Somehow the channel got stuck on Kitchen Nightmares, and god help me, it's kind of interesting._

_Bucky: The censored or non censored version?_

_Steve: Non censored. His swearing takes me back to the army_

The text conversation plays background to Tyler eating waffles and telling Bucky about all the ways that New Jersey is inferior to New York. While Bucky privately agrees with much of Tyler's reasoning, his spoken words betray a less emotional response.

 

"Everything's different," Tyler complains, "I can't do the same subjects I like, the teachers are all new and they don't like me. I was meant to be in Mr Stockard's class this year back in my old school, and we were going to do that essay on World War II. Now I'm in someone else's class and it's not the same. It's some stupid thing about the Civil War."

 

"I get it, you were prepared for one thing, now it's something totally new."

 

"I hate it there." He takes a vicious bite out of his waffle.

 

Bucky leans his elbow on the table and looks at Tyler. "Did you tell your mom that?"

 

"Yes, she didn't listen to me."

 

Bucky pauses. "Did you give her good reasons, or just yelled 'I hate it here'?"

 

Tyler doesn't answer, and Bucky presses on. "Ever thought about making a list about all the things that are really hard, and sit down with her and have a talk about it? You've got some good reasons, but I bet she doesn't know them."

 

Tyler slips into silence, chewing thoughtfully on his waffle. Bucky can see the gears in his head turning. He lets Tyler have his thinking time, and glances back down at his messages.

_Steve: I think we've missed out on time for a movie._

_Bucky: I'm sorry! We can do it when you get back?_

_Steve: bring me food and I'll forgive you. Also we can just watch tv and hang out on the sofa._

_Bucky: Steve... did you just ask me to Neflix and chill?_

_Steve: [photo of glass of water with icecubes in it]_

_Bucky: NO MORE INTERNET FOR YOU. YOU'RE BANNED._

And that's the thing. Tyler really _is_ a good kid. He's otherwise a polite, well-spoken and thoughtful boy, who generally really applies himself to tasks. In fact, his dropping grade was the _only_ reason he was attending the program, he had no other emotional or behavioural issues to speak of.

 

Bucky had been pondering asking Tyler and his parents about getting his help in a 'big brother' type role for the junior high group he has. Tyler's responsible, and they'd look up to him being in high school. He's also not a flake, and Bucky could easily entrust him with tasks.

 

But then the soon-to-be-ex Mrs O'Neal moved him to Jersey, and that plan got shot to shit.

_Bucky: I'll pick up the family dinner thing from my Thai place. Because you have hollow legs._

_Steve: Not my fault I'm a growing boy._

_Steve: Can you make sure you get lots of coconut rice?_

_Bucky: There is no such thing as a Thai feast without coconut rice._

Tyler finishes most of his waffles, and Bucky eats all of his bacon. They've not had a call from either parent, and the note is still intact when they get back to the office, so nobody's been through yet. Tyler gets increasingly anxious the longer he's waiting, even though Bucky's explained about the delays due to distance, traffic, and weather. To get his mind off it, Bucky finds the board games stashed at the top of the bookshelf.

 

While they play, Bucky brings up the subject of what's going to happen when his parents arrive.

 

"They're not just going to take you and go, something serious happened tonight; we're going to have to talk about it."

 

"They don't believe me when I say it's hard," Tyler sighs. "I don't _mean_ to be doing badly, but I can't-- I don't have--" He stops speaking, frustrated. "When I try to explain, my words get all mushy in my mouth. I can't say them properly."

 

If they're having trouble listening, or you're having trouble speaking... would it be okay if I stepped in to help out? You've been pretty articulate with me, I think I might be able to help them understand what you mean."

 

Tyler nods, and Bucky starts mentally putting all his soldiers in a row.

 

_Steve: I did a bad thing._

_Bucky: ??_

_Steve: I may've... ordered a pizza._

_Bucky: You are a bottomless pit._

_Steve: I'm still happy for you to bring Thai. I will have room! But are you going to have time?_

_Bucky: Stand by :/_

_Bucky: Maybe save me some pizza_

_Steve: I make no promises._

 

Thirty minutes into an increasingly competitive game of Monopoly, there's a frantic knock at the door. As luck would have it, Tyler's parents show up within minutes of one another. They both pull him into separate, individual hugs. There's some scolding and a few raised voices, but by and large not much animosity between the parents; they're just relieved to find that their son is safe and well.

 

Bucky doesn't let them off the hook so easily, though. He gets them to sit on the sofa, with Tyler in the middle, and returns to the dining chair to face all parties.

 

He might as well start. "Mr and Mrs O'Neal, thanks for coming. While you're both here, Tyler would like to talk to you about a few things." Bucky turns to the boy. "Tyler?"

 

He squirms in his seat, unable to look his parents in the eye. Bucky almost thinks he's not going to say anything at all, when a soft voice breaks the silence.

 

"I'm sorry I went away without telling you, Mom," he begins. "But I just wanted to come back to Brooklyn. I miss my school and my friends. I don't like staying with Aunt Janice--"

 

"But I thought you loved Aunt Janice!" his mother exclaims.

 

"I do, but I like visiting her, not living with her. There's cat hair everywhere that makes me sneeze, and a weird smell in the bathroom. Also Todd and Phil don't want me there."

 

"Your cousins are older than you, and it's their house--"

 

Tyler turns to face her. "That's it. It's _their_ house. Not _our_ house. I have to sleep in Phil's bedroom and he doesn't want to share. He's always playing music when I'm trying to do my homework and I can't concentrate."

 

His mom looks surprised. "You never told me that."

 

Tyler huffs. "I _did_. You said to work on the kitchen table. But Todd is always in the living room playing Xbox."

 

"That's still no excuse to jump on the subway and run away, young man," Tyler's dad cuts in, and Bucky can nearly _feel_ the hair stand up on the back of the kid's neck when he hears _young man_. Tyler clams up; his complaint of not being listened to appearing very genuine as his dad unwittingly shuts him down.

 

"Hey, Tyler," Bucky interrupts smoothly, "do you remember where the kitchen is?"

 

All three O'Neals snap their heads towards Bucky. Good thing Bucky doesn't warp under scrutiny.

 

"Yeah," Tyler answers.

 

"Good. You're not going senile yet," he grins. "Remember how to make those hot chocolates in the machine?" Tyler nods in the affirmative. "Great. How about you make your folks some hot chocolates, and bring them through? There's a tray under the sink, and I think you'll find some cookies in a barrel on the bench."

 

Tyler gets up and exits immediately, and Bucky watches him go. When he's out of the room, Bucky chucks his thumb towards the door.

 

"That's what I love about this kid; he takes direction really well. He's smart and responsible." Bucky rests his elbows on his knees. "So you've _got_ to know him acting out like this is serious. He's struggling, and he's doing his best to ask for help the only way he knows how.

 

"He was only ever coming to me because is GPA dropped from 3.8 to somewhere in the high 2's." Bucky turns to Mrs O'Neal. "Things aren't going to get any better if he's not comfortable in his environment and unable to study."

 

"He'd seemed a little moody on the weekends," Tyler's dad offers, "but I put it down to the move and being a teenager." He turns slightly, directing his statement to his wife. "You didn't tell me he didn't have his own room."

 

"It's just temporary, until I find a new place I can afford."

 

"Are you even _looking_ in Brooklyn?" he demands.

 

"I _am,_ not that it's any concern of yours," she replies waspishly.

 

Tyler's dad makes an annoyed sound. "Do you even know how hard it was to leave my job early today to get here?"

 

"And that's exactly why he's with me!"

 

"With all due respect," Bucky buts in, voice firm, "the stress that these conversations are putting on your son is what's causing his trouble at school. He needs stability and consistency, and he's not getting any of that."

 

Both parents stop biting at each other, as if remembering Bucky is in the room. With their undivided attention, Bucky softens his voice. "You have to realise he's a good kid. Put yourself in his shoes for a minute. His entire world has been turned upside down. He says he's tried talking to you, but it hasn't gotten him very far. For whatever reason, he felt his only choice was to take matters into his own hands. He couldn't get all the way home, so he came here. Even though he's only fifteen, his executive functioning skills are high. That is, analytical thinking and making subsequent choices."

 

"That's why he does so great at school," his mom says, and Bucky hears the pride in her voice.

 

" _Did_ well at school," Bucky corrects. "Past tense. It's because everything that was familiar to him has changed. New school, new home, new classes, new teachers. He's in a tailspin and doesn't know where to go for support or encouragement. It's going to take a hell of a lot of work to raise his GPA back up to anywhere near what it was, and without a few changes, I can't see it happening at this stage."

 

"What do you suggest?" his dad asks quietly, looking suitably concerned. "Trish and I talked about him staying with me during the week to go back to his old school while she gets on her feet with her sister, but I can't be there to get him home from school, or get him studying. I don't get home until after six most days. We can't leave him alone that late, that's no good either."

 

Bucky presses his lips together. He won't berate them for not doing research, he won't. "I'm not sure if you know, but the local Brooklyn libraries have what they call a 'Teen Zone'. It's a supervised area where kids can go to study, get tutored, and it specifically works outside of school hours.

 

"Add to that... I wasn't kidding when I said Tyler was smart. I have been looking for someone his age to help mentor my junior high group a couple of times a week, and I think your son's perfect for that role."

As if on cue, Tyler re-enters the room, carefully carrying a tray. On it are four mugs with little whisps of steam coming out of them, and a selection of cookies on a plate. His parents each take a mug, and then Tyler offers one to Bucky. Bucky gives him a large smile. "Thanks, buddy. That's really thoughtful of you."

 

Tyler smiles at him, and it's the first proper one he's had all evening. The O'Neals exchange looks that clearly mark them as impressed at their son's behaviour. He sits back down with his parents, and they sip their beverages.

 

Bucky rises and stretches his legs. "I'll have to ask you to excuse me for a moment. Maybe you can tell Tyler what I was just talking about."

 

They nod and Bucky ducks out, letting out a sigh of relief. Once again, he's glad he never made the leap to work as any form of marriage counsellor. He quickly texts Denise to let her know that yes, the O'Neals have arrived, and he's handling the situation.

 

There are also a bunch of messages waiting for him from Steve.

 

_Steve: Pizza is here, it's amazing._

_Steve: I'm saving you less than you think._

_Steve: Hypothetically speaking, what would you say if I told you I ate a whole pizza? Would you be impressed, or hate me?_

_Steve: You're not going to make it, are you?_

Bucky cringes at the last one, and types out a response.

_Bucky: I don't think so. His parents are here, but I can't let him go with them until they've at least sorted out_ some _of the shit that led the kid to cut and run in the first place._

_Bucky: If it's any consolation, I'm starving._

_Bucky: I'll call you when I'm done, though? Shouldn't be too much longer, but I know you have to get up early._

 

Without waiting for a reply, Bucky heads back into the meeting room.

 

He spends the next half an hour hashing out some ideas. Tyler begins speaking for himself a little more, telling them he's more than capable of getting to the libraries to study, and get home. Bucky can see that his parents are at least _trying_ to factor his wishes into the plans that also suit themselves.

 

The good news is, it looks as though Tyler's mom has agreed to reverse their current arrangement and take him on weekends -- until she moves back to Brooklyn, of which Tyler is _ecstatic_ about -- and let his dad do the weekday thing.

 

Provided that a) his old school will be willing to accept him as a transfer back mid-term, b) he makes use of the Teen Zone program and c) he works with Bucky (if he wants to) on the days he's not going to the library, to which Tyler agrees. They're willing to give it a trial, starting the week after next to allow time for the school paperwork to clear.

 

By the time they're finished, nearly all the adults are slightly hysterical from exhaustion, and Tyler's passed out, curled on the sofa. He held out so well, really impressing Bucky with his moxie, and actually _got_ somewhere with his parents. Bucky's not wrong about him at all.

 

When all is said and done, Bucky receives a firm handshake from Tyler's dad, and a kiss on the cheek from his mom.

 

The first thing Bucky does as he does a final sweep to make sure everything's locked for the weekend is to send a final message to Denise.

 

_Bucky: Finally all done! Multiple crises averted, heading home. Will fill you in on Monday._

_Denise: Fill me in at the lunch I am going to treat you to, because you've gone above and beyond tonight. Go home and get some rest! x_

 

It's not until he's actually outside the centre, having locked it up, that he gets around to checking Steve's unopened messages.

 

_Steve: Sure, you can call. I'll sleep on the quinjet, anyway._

_Steve: our operators are standing by_

 

Bucky dials his number as he walks to his car. It doesn't take long for the call to be answered.

 

"H'lo?" Steve says, sounding tired.

 

"Did I wake you?" Bucky asks, feeling rather wretched as he hops into his car. The call immediately connects through his Bluetooth, and Steve's voice comes piping out of his speakers. Bucky can't help but smile.

 

"Na, just dozed in front of the TV."

 

"Food coma. That's what you get for eating an entire pizza, you glutton."

 

"Did you get everything sorted?" he asks, and Bucky notes the genuine concern.

 

"I think so. Details will still need to be ironed out, but Tyler's on his way home to his Dad's for the weekend. There's a possible solution in the works, but it's kind of above my pay grade. I've done all I can right now, but it looks promising."

 

Bucky looks at the clock on the LCD. "Fuck, how is it nearly ten?"

 

"That's what you get when you're awesome at your job," Steve replies, and Bucky doesn't think he's imagining the naked admiration in Steve's voice. "You get to do it more, and outside of hours, for no additional pay."

 

Bucky smirks. "Let me guess, you do this all the time?"

 

"Welcome to my life," Steve says, and Bucky can just picture the expansive gesture that goes with it. Stupid adorable bastard.

 

Bucky and Steve chat for the fifteen minutes it takes for Bucky to drive home. While he's a bit annoyed he didn't get to see Steve tonight, it wasn't for nothing; it was for a very worthy cause.

 

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, Bucky sighs into the receiver. "I guess I should let you go," he says in a slightly disappointed voice.

 

"Not until you're home. I'm going to walk you to your door," Steve replies immediately.

 

"That's either extremely chivalrous, or you're in league with my service provider and trying to push my phone bill up this month."

 

"Captain America has no company affiliations, thank you," Steve says imperiously.

 

Bucky's about to scoff, until he reaches his apartment. Directly outside his door, there's a pizza box. Someone's drawn a replica of Steve's shield on the top, and written the note 'Can I write you next week?'

 

" _Steve_..." Bucky's tone gives away the fact he's found the food.

 

"You said you were hungry, and sounded like you'd had a long day."

 

Bucky opens the box to see it's his favourite; pepperoni. "You really are a superhero." Bucky unlocks the door, and pushes into his apartment. He has a slice of pie in his mouth before the door's even shut.

 

"Sometimes," he says gently.

 

Bucky makes supremely unattractive eating sounds into the phone, but he really can't help it. "I'm glad you didn't hear me do this before. You never would've agreed to date me," Bucky says when he finishes chewing.

 

"Somehow, loud eating isn't a deal-breaker for me," Steve responds, the grin evident in his voice. Regret soon takes over, however. "On that note, though, I really do have to go."

 

Bucky hastily swallows. "I am really sorry our night got messed up. That's actually a pretty rare occurrence."

 

"It's okay, I'm glad you were there to help. Also, it was a nice surprise. I thought if anyone's occupation was going to throw a spanner in the works, it was going to be mine."

 

Bucky laughs. "You know, that's kind of funny."

 

"I'm a funny guy," Steve deadpans, and Bucky laughs one more.

 

"Well, I'd better let you go," Bucky says reluctantly, flopping on the sofa with his pizza. "I have to make sweet, sweet love to this pizza."

 

"Delightful," Steve says.

 

"Be safe, hope it all goes well. And you can write me when you get back."

 

Steve chuckles. "That's _my_ line."

 

"Deal with it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Reviews are wonderful, too. I've had such a great time reading your comments, and have appreciated each and every one. If you had the time, I'd love to know what you thought! <3 
> 
> With regards to Steve's reasoning behind not wanting the ceremony... I'd already decided that he didn't want to go through with it, and then found this video about the ceremony, as put out by the White House. If you look at it from the 0.52sec mark, you can definitely see the point I'm trying to make, and the very thing Steve was wanting to avoid. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nt53GPz9dmE&feature=youtu.be
> 
> Other facts about The One With The Medal, based on research. 
> 
> * The MoH has to be recommended by someone to witness the heroic act. With no actual eyes on Steve itself for the Valkyrie, those in the control tower who were there when Steve was making his call became the witnesses: Col. Phillips, Morita, and of course, Peggy. 
> 
> * Phillips is the one who nominated Steve for the MoH. It's not that Peggy didn't think he deserved it, it's just that she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was too upset. 
> 
> * Likewise, she was also asked if she would accept the medal on his behalf at the ceremony, but she didn't think she had the right to do that. She wasn't family, nor was she really his sweetheart. Also again, too upset. Much like Steve didn't want to display emotional weakness in front of the assembled dignitaries, Peggy knew she was going to have difficulty holding it together, and refused. I'm not sure if Steve knows this little tidbit. 
> 
> * If you watch the full interview of Peggy giving her 1953 interview, of which a snippet appeared playing in the Smithsonian in TWS, you'll understand. That interview was filmed 8 years later in the timeline, and the moment the interviewer asks about the last conversation she had with Steve, she breaks down. And it's not flashy and big tears, but genuine heartbreak. That was 8 yrs later, she couldn'tve done it a month after his 'death'. Full and major credit to Hayley Atwell for making me sob like a baby, and it didn't even make the final cut.
> 
> * I've had a few people bring up in the comments about Tyler's parents, and the fact that they seem to be over-protective of a 15yr old. This is what I wrote in one of my comments, I thought I'd add it at the end here, in case anyone else reading was wondering my view on the subject:
> 
> "Some kids are allowed to be independent pretty early (whether because they're responsible and show an aptitude for it/their parents are trying to help them mature/their parents don't actually care that much and they have to), and others are not. They might be shy, not be comfortable with stepping out, or their parents could be a bit restrictive/over-protective.
> 
> Tyler's parents fall into this very last category. Yes, he's fifteen, but they definitely don't consider him to be anywhere near an adult. They don't even want him to be unattended when he's not in school. He's showing an aptitude for being responsible, but they're kind of quashing it in well-meaning ways. To their thinking, it was more important to have him be able to get home from school with a parent at home already, rather than have him get home by himself, and be responsible for himself for a few hours and keep him in the school he obviously likes.
> 
> Bucky knows this. He's already recognised Tyler's growing autonomy, and part of the reason he wants Tyler for his program is that it's getting Tyler away and thinking for himself (good for Tyler) but still in a secure environment (good for his parents) would be beneficial to his development. It would allow Tyler to show his parents that he can do this, because telling them isn't having any effect."
> 
> I hope the above helps to explain my reasoning and why things happened in the way that they did. Thanks!


	5. Dating (week 7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With Captain America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am drowning in Civil War feels. I had to do something. :D BUT JUST SO YOU KNOW, THERE ARE ABSOLUTELY NO CW SPOILERS WITHIN. 
> 
> This was meant to have the requisite 3 vignettes, but the 2nd part of this is turning out to be a bit of a behemoth. So rather than make you wait, I decided to get this part out while I work on the next little bit. 
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for your likes and kudos and bookmarks and comments for the previous chapters. Ugh, they make me so very happy. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you wanted to continue with that, I totally wouldn't mind. Seriously XD
> 
> Finally, as per ALWAYS, this would not be possible without Sarah, who is possibly some magical unicorn creature.

**_The One With Captain America_ **

****

**_(Location: Bucky's work / apartment)_ **

****

Bucky's week without Steve progresses as it ordinarily would, save for two significant things. They're pretty different, like comparing apples and oranges, but each end up relating in some way to one another.

 

By and large, it's business as usual. He goes to work, he comes home. He goes to the gym a few times, he spends most nights working through his Netflix queue. His phone is set up for Google alerts about the Geneva conference, so every once in a while, he'll get a pop up about how things are travelling.

 

Sometimes there's a photo of the few Avengers in attendance, overseeing security and generally acting as a deterrent to the assholes of the world. The photos are never posed affairs; they're always of Steve standing off to the side, getting his thousand-yard stare on, being totally professional. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of Sam and the Black Widow there, too (He's not met her properly to feel comfortable referring to her as 'Natasha', even in his own head). There's also the occasional update on the news with some footage, often referring to the Avengers' presence as though they're celebrity guests, not soldiers there to do a job.

 

But if he's being honest, the footage and photos makes his boyfriend look really hot.

 

The first significant thing that happens, is that for the first time, Bucky thinks of Steve in no uncertain terms as his _boyfriend._

 

That in itself is pretty big, but Bucky does his best to downplay it. Hell, he hasn't even talked to Steve about this yet, but it feels natural; as though their weeks of texting, then subsequently further weeks dating have been leading to this realisation. He's definitely felt as though he's grown closer to Steve, and has started to develop a really solid relationship with him.

 

Bucky's also pretty sure that feeling is entirely mutual.

 

So, yeah. Bucky's _boyfriend_ is off being a total professional badass in Geneva.

 

The second significant thing that happens, is that the Geneva conference turns into an _absolute shitshow_ when a terrorist group with known links to HYDRA shows up, guns blazing, and kidnaps some of the high-profile attendees.

 

Bucky's at the office, sitting at his desk drinking coffee when Denise runs in and bodily drags him into the meeting room with the TV. The rest of the staff are already there, watching as CNN shows some shaky mobile phone footage of people fleeing a building.

 

The news ticker down the bottom spews forth information and Bucky does his best to read at the same time as listen to the news anchors talking, narrating the video footage.

 

_... EXPLOSIONS AND GUNFIRE ROCK GENEVA CONFERENCE ... HYDRA SUSPECTED BUT NOT CONFIRMED ... 2 DEAD AND 11 INJURED ..._

"... can clearly see the Swiss Federal Police in their riot gear being driven back by a hail of gunfire. They're doing their best to get civilians and delegates out of the building..."

 

_... AVENGERS WORKING WITH POLICE TO RESCUE HOSTAGES ... 16 DELEGATES FROM 7 COUNTRIES AS YET UNACCOUNTED FOR ... CAPTAIN AMERICA, FALCON, BLACK WIDOW ON THE GROUND ... IRON MAN EN ROUTE DIRECTLY FROM NYC ..._

All work in the office has ground to a halt. Bucky's transfixed by the television. He keeps his breathing steady, inhaling and counting to three before exhaling.

 

There's lots of shaky video from a variety of sources, with news anchors talking over one another to try and explain what's going on. All reports are prefaced with words like 'unconfirmed' or 'allegedly' or 'suspected'. There's no real solid information apart from the fact that bad guys are there, and the good guys are amassing to deal with the situation.

 

Which is fine, because the best guy Bucky knows is there to take care of it.

 

And steady breathing and counting keeps him from hyperventilating with that knowledge. It's working fine as a calmative until someone spots Steve on TV.

 

"There's Captain America!" Rory announces unnecessarily loudly, pointing to the screen. Bucky takes a tiny step closer, squinting at the screen.

 

The footage isn't close, it's from media cameras that have been moved back past the police barricades, zoomed in as far as they'll go. The vision is grainy, but Steve is unmistakeable in his uniform. He seems to be with a bunch of the police officers, and they're making their way into one of the buildings.

 

This isn't the first time he's seen Steve on TV, but it's the first time since Bucky's been _dating_ him, and his stomach does a little flip. It definitely makes a difference to his perception. He frowns, finding himself studying the blurry image of Steve in profile, trying to see if he can recognise the expression.

 

"Why isn't he wearing something more subdued? He makes a pretty good target in that red, white and blue getup."

 

Bucky flinches, but nobody notices.

 

Denise slaps Rory's arm. "That's a terrible thing to say!"

 

"But am I wrong?" Rory counters. "At least Widow's wearing black... the guy is like a beacon."

 

And Bucky is okay with not hearing the rest of this conversation. He breathes out sharply, and turns around to head back to his desk.

 

"Everything okay, Bucky?" Denise asks, and the rest of his co-workers turn around to look at him.

 

"Yeah, fine, Dee," he says, pretty pleased that his voice remains level. "I just have a lot of work to do. And let's face it, this is gonna be on TV for a while."

 

"But what if something happens right now? What if Cap gets shot on live tv, or something?" Rory comments.

 

Bucky goes very still. "Then I'm sure we'll be seeing it on repeat for the next six months. Don't you have your troubled teen group from Midwood High due in an hour?"

 

Rory nods and Bucky returns to his desk. He takes a moment to stare blankly at the screen, before slowly taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee and going back to his files.

 

The thing of it is, Bucky knows what Steve does. He knows it's a dangerous job, one that one day he might not walk away from.

 

But that's part of being a soldier. He understands that on an instinctive level. Sometimes there were jobs he hated, sometimes he went somewhere not knowing if he would survive, but that never stopped him doing them in the first place.

 

Not if there was a job to _be_ done.

 

Of course he's worried. He's not a fucking robot. Steve might get hurt... or worse.

 

But Bucky worrying about it, or staying glued to the TV to watch the same bits of footage over and over again, hear 'experts' dredged up from any field to commentate and speculate on what the terrorists might've had for breakfast that morning... is not going to help. It's going to drive him crazy.

 

And, like Steve, Bucky has a job to do. He has kids that are relying on him to not lose his fucking shit.

 

The rest of the day is challenging, but he gets through it. Bucky takes himself to the diner close by for dinner after work, blatantly ignoring the TV in the corner with live feeds from Geneva, and blocks out the spirited debate about exactly _what_ the Avengers should be doing that the neighbouring table is having.

 

At home, he has a long, hot shower and stays in his routine; Netflix with Babushka.

 

He changes the alert in his phone only to ping at mentions of 'Captain America', and it, thankfully, cuts out a lot of unnecessary notifications.

 

Not since 9/11 has Bucky loathed rolling coverage more, because the next day, it's still going full force. Someone in the office decides it's a great idea to have the radio on all day, where there are long talk-back segments devoted to the crisis in Geneva, along with citizens phoning in their own opinions on the topic, however ill-informed.

 

There's been two big cancellations in his schedule, and Denise -- bless her for noticing -- upon realising Bucky'd been a little off since the situation began, and isn't getting any better, suggested he go home early and work from there for the rest of the week. Considering that's only two days, it's not too much of a hardship from his employer's point of view. He knows she thinks it's possibly a PTSD reaction to seeing all the activity on TV, and as much as he feels a little like a heel for it, Bucky's not going to correct her.

 

He takes the opportunity to stay at home, reviewing school counsellor reports on his new intake of kids, listening to music, and occasionally, just sitting with Babushka and stroking her fur. He limits himself to five minutes of news about Geneva, once in the morning and once at night, and along with the Google alerts on Steve, that's more than enough information. Turning off the TV is easy; having to block out or ignore the office chatter where his co-workers are discussing the situation for what seems like all day, was much harder.

 

The gist of it is this; the bad guys have rigged up the room they're holding the hostages in with quite a few explosives, and the authorities have to either talk them out, or get in there without tripping something bad that'll cause explosions.

 

Bucky trusts Steve not to run in there guns a-blazin' if there are people's lives on the line, and he's right. They seem to be taking their time negotiating, while the Avengers in attendance try to figure out how to get in and save everyone.

 

Well, that's what he assumes. Even the networks aren't dumb enough to broadcast that plan on the news, and thank Heaven for small favours. Terrorists still have access to information and could find things out to jeopardise the safety of the rescuers.

 

He has another quiet night reading and playing with Babushka. Bucky only watches five minutes of news coverage where the weary-looking anchors are postulating as to how long the terrorists are going to hold out, and whether there's going to be some sort of rescue attempt soon.

 

Having been in situations where the reality was starkly different to what was being reported, Bucky takes everything that's said on TV with a grain of salt. He won't believe it until the facts are triple-checked, or he hears from a more direct source.

 

Bucky doubts any of the Avengers are putting him on the high priority call list, so he's just going to have to stay calm, and be patient. Panicking and worrying are not going to help Steve, and it's not going to help him, either.

 

The last thing he sees on the screen are some images taken by a professional photographer at an event a while back of Steve, Sam, Stark and Widow -- still not calling her 'Natasha' -- before he flicks the TV off.

 

Bucky trusts Steve's training and his intelligence. He'll do everything he can to get the hostages out, but safely.

 

After all, he's got someone to come back to. Even if he doesn't know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI if you've already seen Civil War... CLEARY Steve should just stay out of Europe all together. 
> 
> Thank you guys. As I said, the next part, which is a direct continuation from this, will be coming soon. It's just loonnnng. 
> 
> If you're so inclined, I'd love to hear from you. And again, thank you for all of the wonderful feedback I've received up to this point. You're awesome, stucky fandom. Srsly. 
> 
> oh, i have a tumblr, too. I should say that. If you want to cry about civil war with me, my handle is fannishflightsoffancy. <3


	6. Dating (week 8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The First 24 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my MVP is forever Sarah for helping me with this one. IT IS LONGER THAN THE REST OF THE SERIES, I THINK. You are so amazeballs, I have ceased to can. 
> 
> This one is a little different from the other chapters, in that it takes place over a complete 24-hour period, and follows on directly from the previous chapter. 
> 
> Sarah and I have looked for any and all errors, but if you find anything that's slipped our eyes, please let me know! 
> 
> A note on the end note, too, I'm going to mention a part of Civil War that in no way has anything to do with any kind of plot point at all. But just in case you freak out, skip it if you want. 
> 
> Gratuitous Dr Horrible's Sing-along Blog reference is Gratuitous. 
> 
> All the comments and the kudos have been so amazing, thanks guys. They make me ridiculously happy, so if you wanted to keep going with that, I would NOT say no! You're super sweet, stucky fandom. <3

**_The One With The First 24 Hours_ **

**_(Location: Steve's Apartment)_ **

****

 

Bucky wakes from a pretty shitty night's sleep to his phone sounding like it's having an apoplectic fit. He gently pushes Babushka off his chest, and rubs one eye as he picks up the phone.

 

Google is losing its shit on his device. Sixteen separate alerts with regards to 'Captain America'. Bucky breathes deeply and goes through them in chronological order. His heart rate doesn't improve as he goes through and reads them.

 

_Captain America leads Avengers and Swiss Police into secured building._

_Explosion 'rattles window frames' as authorities attempt to take back hostages._

_Avenger down! Unconfirmed reports Captain America taken to hospital suffering injuries._

 

_Geneva General Hospital admits Captain America; extent of injuries unknown._

_All hostages freed as Avengers and Swiss Police storm building._

 

Bucky's got the remote control in his hand even before he realises, and flicks on the TV. He immediately turns it to sketchy footage of people being loaded into ambulances amidst a bit of debris. The voice-over is saying they are hostages and police who need medical treatment over the rescue. Time stamps for Geneva say that whatever happened, happened at least six hours ago, NYC time.

 

"Fuck," Bucky breathes. The news is old. The networks are only cycling the same scant intel over and over again. Bucky takes the news with a grain of salt, and knows how unreliable first reports can be in the chaos of an op. He's not sure that Steve _has_ been injured, but he's not entirely sure that he _hasn't_.

 

There's not really anyone he can call and ask. He doubts there's anyone at Avengers Tower that'll take an enquiry from a near-stranger as to the classified welfare and whereabouts of Captain America. There _was_ that one-off meeting with Pepper Potts, but on the off chance she remembers him, the likelihood he can make contact with the CEO of a _Fortune 500_ company with such a tenuous link is doubtful.

 

There are no other options open to him, so he resolves to remain as calm as possible, and try to get on with his routine.

 

Bucky's phone chooses this moment to go off, making him jump. He gropes for it where it sits on the sheets next to him.

 

The caller is unknown. Bucky answers it straight away.

 

"James Barnes," he says, voice still rusty from sleep.

 

There's a slight pause on the end of the phone. "Bucky?" a familiar voice asks hesitantly.

 

"Yeah?" Bucky says, his still slightly fuzzy brain trying desperately to place the other person on the end of the phone.

 

"Oh, great. I thought I'd gotten the wrong number. It's Sam Wilson."

 

Bucky's heart lodges somewhere in his throat. This is either very good news, or very bad news. He fumbles for the remote control to hit the 'mute' button.

 

"Is he okay?" There's no point in beating about the bush here, and he hopes Sam will forgive the directness. But if he's learnt anything about Steve's best friend in their short acquaintance, it's that he will probably understand.

 

"Yes. He did have to go to hospital to get treated, but everything's fine."

 

Bucky exhales, sagging forward. "Good. Good."

 

"I'm guessing you saw the news?" Sam queries.

 

"I just woke up and heard about the resolution? Haven't really processed too much mentally right now, don't even know how it happened."

 

"Oh, the time difference," Sam acknowledges, "I completely forgot. It would've all happened in the middle of the night for you. Sufficed to say, the media's probably not all that accurate. Let your boy fill you in later."

 

Sam's reference to Steve as 'his boy' makes his heart do the two-step in his chest for a brief moment. It distracts him, but Bucky quickly gets back on track, clearing his throat. He's not sure where Sam and Steve are, how secure their line is, how long it might hold out. Bucky needs the important info, and he needs it _now._

 

"What's the extent of Steve's injuries? How bad are we talking?" His eyes get drawn back to the silent TV, still displaying pictures of emergency services, and Armed Forces running about with rifles drawn.

 

The fingernails of his right hand come to dig into his knee.

 

Sam only realistically takes a moment to answer him, but that moment feels interminable. "In supersoldier terms, barely a scratch. The building was wired with explosives, but we got in and out without any dramas... except that one of the bad guys got to trigger a bomb during the evac before we could stop him. Steve was the last one out, and got caught in the edge of the concussive blast."

 

Bucky winces. "Shrapnel?"

 

"Actually, not. He pretty much got blown through the doors of an elevator and fell down the shaft."

 

"Shit."

 

"Steve broke his ankle and got a mild concussion when he landed badly at the bottom. It's a bad break, but it could've been a lot worse. He got taken to the GGH where they've re-set the bone and put it in a cast. His particular gifts should get him healed up a lot faster than a regular person, but he still needs rest."

 

Bucky inhales deeply, holds for a second, then exhales, loosening the grip on his knee. "I'm glad it's not too serious." The thought occurs that he has no idea where they are right now. "Where are you even calling from?"

 

"Quinjet satellite phone," Sam answers, "Natasha and Tony stayed back for debriefing and clean-up, I have the dubious honour of escorting Steve home. We're probably about two hours out of New York."

 

"'Dubious honour'?" Bucky asks.

 

"Yeah." Sam gives that infectious laugh down the line. "So they needed elephant tranquilisers to knock Steve out while they were messing with his ankle, then he woke up yelling at everyone."

 

"What for?"

 

"The noise of the explosion also perforated both ear drums, so he subsequently thinks _everyone else_ is deaf."

 

A chuckle escapes Bucky's lips, and oh God that's a good feeling. "Aw man."

 

"That's the reason I'm making the call, and not him, but not for lack of trying." Bucky's mouth quirks up involuntarily, as Sam continues. "He'll contact you personally when we land."

 

Closing his eyes, Bucky exhales. "Excellent. Thanks a lot, Sam," he says sincerely.

 

"Oh, don't thank me yet. You've never seen Steve when he's less than one hundred percent."

 

They say their goodbyes, and hang up. Bucky immediately turns off the television and flops down on his bed, musing over Sam's last comment and wondering exactly what he means.

 

Babushka leaps back up onto the mattress and snuggles into his side. He stays like that for a while, staring at the ceiling, before jumping in the shower.

 

It's still business as usual, Bucky tells himself, he's still got work to do until Steve calls.

 

Feeling more at ease after the phone call, Bucky manages to have a shower, shave, get dressed in clean clothes and hit the paperwork again, but concentration is hard to come by. He finds himself side-eyeing his phone more than once, making sure the ringtone is definitely turned up, or calculating how long it might take for the quinjet to land, Steve to get out and get to wherever he's meant to be before calling.

 

With effort, Bucky keeps plugging away, and reviews another sixteen child profiles when his phone finally trills. Cool dissolving in nanoseconds, he grabs for the device.

 

It's not a call, but it _is_ a text message.

 

_Steve: Hey, Buck. Sam said he spoke to you like I asked, which is great. My hearing's still a little patchy so I don't think I'd be able to hear you over the phone, but I was wondering if you weren't busy with work... did you want to come visit me?_

_Bucky: Of course I do! Where are you?_

_Bucky: And it's great to hear from you :)_

_Steve: Home sweet home. Got dropped off about five minutes ago, Sam had to go to the Tower. I'd say it's great to hear from you, too... but we both know I'm not doing a whole lot of that right now :)_

Bucky grins. It's just like Steve to joke about something ridiculous like this.

 

_Bucky: They just don't make eardrums like they used to. Shoddy Great Depression workmanship._

_Bucky: Also I'll be right over._

_Steve: Is that an age joke?_

_Steve: Sam put my spare key under the doormat so you can let yourself in. Otherwise you might be knocking on the door for a while._

_Bucky: Sam's a smart guy. You owe him._

_Steve: Don't I know it. See you soon!_

Bucky grabs his car keys and wallet, and power-walks downstairs. He could take the subway, but doesn't want to deal with _people_ right now. Plus, his car will be faster.

 

There's not a lot of traffic around on a Friday close to lunchtime, and it takes Bucky barely over fifteen minutes to reach Steve's apartment, which is a vast improvement on the regular commute.

 

Also, he may've exceeded the speed limit a touch.

 

He takes the steps in Steve's apartment block stairwell two at a time, far too impatient to wait for the elevator, and hotfoots it to his door. Sure enough, there's a key under the doormat.

 

Bucky puts the key in the door, and with a sharp exhale of carefully-controlled excitement, turns the lock.

 

"Steve? I'm here... Ste-- Jesus-fuck, what do you think you're _doing_?" Bucky's voice enters a very specific incredulous range when he sees Steve balancing precariously on one foot as he vacuums.

 

Speaking to Sam had alleviated anxiety about Steve being injured. He knows the guy wouldn't blow smoke up his ass, so Bucky's aware he's not walking in to Steve's apartment expecting Captain Deathbed.

 

But nor is he expecting Steve to be on one leg in clothes he's clearly worn at the hospital, doing domestic chores.

 

"Vacuuming, Steve?"

 

Steve looks up, slightly startled. A smile blooms on his face to become hesitant at the dark expression Bucky wears.

 

"Hey, Bucky," he says, just a touch louder than normal. "You got here fast." He pauses, and all Bucky does in the silence is arch one eyebrow. Steve gestures to the floor around him. "The carpet was pretty dirty and--"

 

Bucky, having dropped his keys on Steve's kitchen island, crosses the room to pry the vacuum cleaner out of his bandaged hands, dropping it to the floor. He ushers Steve to the large sofa and tips him so Steve's butt hits the cushions with a soft 'oof'.

 

Steve looks wary and hesitantly at Bucky, as though trying to figure out the reason for Bucky's demeanour. Bucky stays silent as he pulls the coffee table forward, and helps guide the cast-encased foot to rest elevated.

 

Steve looks sheepish. He's wearing what appears to be scrub pants and a classic rock tee shirt. Judging by the way it stretches across his chest, it might've come from a spare clothes stash of Stark's on the quinjet. His left foot is in plaster, toes poking out the top, hands are both wrapped thickly with bandages around his palms, leaving fingers and thumb free. There's a bunch of surface lacerations over his exposed skin, and a butterfly bandage on one eyebrow. He rests his hands, palms up, in his lap expectantly and waits for Bucky to make the first move.

 

Bucky's never seen anything quite so wonderful in his life.

 

He flicks a leg over Steve's lap to straddle his waist, kneeling on the cushions of the sofa. Making sure as to not put any undue weight on Steve at all, Bucky cradles the blond's face very gently in his hands and kisses him. It's equal parts passionate and gentle, given Steve's injuries. Steve, for his part, responds immediately. He rests his ruined hands ever so gently on Bucky's waist, but pushes up into the kiss. Bucky comes down to meet him further, not wanting Steve to strain himself unnecessarily to deepen their contact.

 

Eventually Bucky has to come up for air. He reluctantly pulls his lips away from Steve's before resting their foreheads together.

 

"I missed you." Bucky's murmur is barely even a whisper, so he's not actually sure it's been heard. Steve's eyes are still closed, but a ghost of a smile playing on his lips after that.

 

"Ditto," Steve responds, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Bucky's smooth one.

 

It's nice, but there's a burning question Bucky has to ask. "Why the hell were you cleaning your carpet?"

 

He feels Steve's large shoulders shrug. "Was feeling restless, and I didn't do it before I left," he says softly.

 

It's kind of a strange answer from Steve. Maybe it's some kind of weird adrenalin thing. He sometimes used to have strange responses after coming off an op, like there was a build-up of energy that had nowhere else to go.

 

"Well, forget it," Bucky hits back instead. "Doctor gave you orders to rest, right? Put your foot up?"

 

"Mhm."

 

The 'Mhm' sounds totally insincere, and he would pull Steve up on it, save for that it's accompanied by another nuzzle.

 

"Resting doesn't include vacuuming," Bucky continues valiantly. "Hell, if you're deadset on getting the carpet clean, _I'll_ do it. Just... just don't be an idiot."

 

Steve affects that kicked puppy look, and Bucky rolls his eyes. "It doesn't work, don't even try that shit on me. You follow doctor's orders or else."

 

"Yes, Sergeant," Steve responds, subdued but not serious.

 

Bucky presses a short, hard kiss to Steve's lips before moving to sit next to him instead. They both stare at the black TV for a few moments, before Bucky can bring himself to speak. He makes sure to talk a little louder, and face Steve, so if nothing else, Steve can read his lips.

 

"Sam said you weren't seriously injured, but I thought you might at least be taken to a hospital when you got back to New York."

 

Steve makes a face. "The Swiss doctors did a great job, but I didn't want to see the inside of anymore wards," he explains, hooking a pinky finger around Bucky's with a sigh, resting his cheek against the sofa cushions as he faces Bucky. "I just wanted to come home."

 

Bucky curls his finger around Steve's, both his words and the contact making him feel light-headed. He mirrors Steve's pose, also resting his cheek against the sofa pillow. As he looks at Steve, a small smile grows exponentially bigger, only to be reflected in Steve's face. "Yeah, but if you're concussed, don't you need to be observed for a few hours after to make sure you don't fall unconscious, or something?" Bucky queries.

 

Steve gives a slight smile. "I was hoping you might want the job?"

 

Bucky shakes his head. "I see what this is. It's an elaborate ploy to trick me into being your nursemaid. Sam did warn me."

 

"Is it working?"

 

Bucky pauses. "You're fucking lucky you're cute, is all I'm saying." He groans and pushes himself up from the sofa. "I'll put some coffee on, and then we're going to discuss what this 'nursemaiding' of you is going to entail."

 

Steve moves to get up as well, and Bucky flips switches instantly from 'amiable' to 'murderous'. "Don't even attempt it, Rogers." Steve puts his hands up in surrender, and relaxes back down. "Come to think of it, did Sam leave you with crutches? You have to be _slightly_ mobile, within reason, of course..."

 

"No, but I have some in the closet of the spare bedroom from when I broke my leg a few years back."

 

"Right." Bucky charges into the bedroom and, after a little searching, finds a pair in the back behind a few coats. He returns to the living room to rest them on the arm of the sofa, before moving to the kitchen to make coffee. He gets the pot working, but a quick search of the cupboards and refrigerator find next to no food. Bucky pokes his head out of the kitchen.

 

"Steve, your kitchen's barer than Old Mother Hubbard's. Just what the hell were you planning on eating?"

 

Steve screws up his face and shrugs. "Uh, not sure?"

 

Bucky folds his arms. "'Not sure'."

 

"I have a concussion?" Steve hedges.

 

"Try again, hotshot." Bucky shakes his head and goes back out to Steve. "Well, seeing as I'm on 'Concussion Watch 2016', and you're on 'Sit On Your Ass' Duty... is there anything you need? Anything I can help you with?"

 

"Well, I--" Steve starts, then clams up. Bucky quirks an eyebrow.

 

"What? If it's food, I can order in. Tell me what you want."

 

"Well, given we missed out on Thai last week, that'd be great, but, er... that's not what I was thinking of right this second."

 

"Okay," Bucky says slowly, re-taking his seat on the couch and touching gently touching Steve's arm encouragingly. "So what do you need?"

 

Steve rubs the back of his neck with one hand uncomfortably. "I haven't actually had a shower since the day before the siege..."

 

Oh... _oh._ "That was about four days ago," Bucky states.

 

"I know. And I feel kind of yuck."

 

He nods in return. Another thing Bucky doesn't miss from his deployment days would definitely be not getting to shower regularly. "Okay, well... I can help you with that. As long as you've got some kind of trash bag to cover the plaster, we should be able to figure something out."

 

"Under the kitchen sink," Steve says, looking monumentally relieved.

 

Bucky heads back into the kitchen, and is bending down to open the cabinet when it hits him.

 

Bathing Steve requires that Bucky undress him.

 

Oh sweet mother of fuck. He's not sure he's ready for this, but Steve needs him to help, and not be a child. He finds the trashbag, takes a moment to compose himself, then heads back into the living room.

 

"Okay, Hopalong, let's go." Bucky helps Steve to his feet and hands him a crutch, then supports his weight on one side as they slowly make their way to the main bathroom. Steve has an ensuite that's connected to his bedroom, but Steve explains it only has a shower. Standing on one leg on tile isn't an option Bucky wants Steve to deal with, so bath it is.

 

"The way I figure, if I lower you into the bath and you dangle one leg out, you can at least get most of your body submerged and get rid of that ripe smell."

 

"Hey!" Steve protests.

 

"Sorry, pal. You stink a little. I was way too busy yelling at you to tell you sooner."

 

"Didn't stop you kissing me," Steve mutters in return, grimacing as he accidentally puts a bit of weight on his cast.

 

"What can I say? I have low standards," Bucky shoots back as they enter the bathroom.

 

It's actually one of Bucky's favourite places in Steve's apartment. Nearly twice the size of Bucky's bathroom, the tiles are sea green and white, with a wave pattern feature at random intervals. The shower is one of those expensive ones with the huge head and the multiple functions and different ways for the water to flow out, and the bath has a couple of handy bars that Steve can use to get in and out of the tub.

 

"These are useful," Bucky comments, gesturing to the bars.

 

"Tony got them installed last time I broke my leg. At least I could bathe myself then," he jokes.

 

Bucky helps Steve sit down on the toilet. "Well, it's a good thing you've got me around, then," Bucky says, gesturing to Steve's bandaged hands.

 

"I _always_ think that's a good thing," Steve says, before he looks at his hands. "I might need a little help this first time? But they're healing well, I should be able to do it myself next time."

 

"What did you do to them, anyway?"

 

Steve tugs at the bottom of the t-shirt he wears, toying with the idea of removing it. "Did Sam tell you how I fell?"

 

"Yeah. Bungee jumping down an elevator shaft without a bungee. Very dangerous." Bucky smirks.

 

Steve holds up his hands. "After I went through the doors, halfway down, I managed to grab hold of the cable to slow my descent. But it was sliding through my hands at great speed..."

 

"Holy shit, Steve," Bucky cringes. He knows exactly where Steve's going with this. The friction would've just ripped into him.

 

"My gloves bore the brunt of it," Steve continues, "but they wore through the middle and I lost a few layers of skin for my troubles."

 

Bucky pauses. "Looks like I'm helping you in and out of the bath today, then."

 

"Looks like." He gives a little smile, running the fingers of one hand through his hair. They both lapse into silence, for the time for beating about the bush is over. "Well, best get started, I suppose?" Steve drums his fingers against his belly, looking up to Bucky for confirmation.

 

Bucky nods. "Yep, go for it."

 

Steve lifts the edge of the t-shirt up and begins pulling. He does well, until the fabric gets caught around his neck. While he doesn't seem to be injured around the shoulders, Steve is definitely a little stiff and can't quite get the collar of the shirt off his head with limited movement. He struggles for a few seconds, before giving up.

 

"Uh, little help?" he asks, and Bucky can't help but bark out a laugh. It's not the easiest job, but he gently helps unhook the fabric from Steve's jaw, getting the sleeves stretched over his biceps.

 

"I thought if this were Stark's shirt, the collar would be much more stretched out," Bucky grunts, folding the shirt and turning away to hang it over the towel rack, "you know, to get over his massive head."

 

Steve starts chuckling. It's a sound he's missed over the last week, so he turns to comment on that and holy shit.

 

Bucky's caught glimpses of Steve's bare skin, flashes during movement, or walking past an ajar door, but this is Steve, in the flesh, sitting bare from the waist-up in front of him.

 

Bucky would like to amend his previous thought to 'holy _fucking_ shit'.

 

He really is all kinds of perfect.

 

Steve catches his eye and gives him a shy smile. Bucky chokes on nothing but air, as his body throws him suddenly into a coughing fit. He braces a hand on the counter, and Steve gives him a gentle thump between the shoulder blades.

 

"Y'okay there, Buck?" he asks with concern.

 

" _Fine_ ," Bucky croaks out. For shit's sake, it's not like he hasn't seen a shirtless dude before. He's seen racier images on the sides of buses.

 

None of those dudes happen to be sitting right in front of him, though.

 

He grabs the glass that sits to the side of the sink and fills it up with water, chugging it down to soothe his wrecked throat.

 

Placing the glass down and breathing deeply, Bucky calms himself. He needs to be an adult about this. He looks to Steve, who's sitting there with his big shoulders curved in, hands gently resting between his thighs, looking kind of shy, and--

 

And Bucky finally takes note of the cuts and the bruises on that -- frankly, _magnificent_ \-- torso. Seeing the ugly colours on Steve's skin sobers his attitude significantly

 

There is a particularly nasty bruise across Steve's clavicle that's still purple. Bucky points to it. "Does it hurt?"

 

"Only when I pee," Steve quips, and the awkwardness is broken irreparably. Bucky doubles over laughing, arms wrapped around his stomach. Steve joins in the laughter, resting one of his hands very lightly against Bucky's shoulder.

 

"You asshole," he gasps out, "you trying to make me cough again?"

 

"I like it when you laugh so hard you can't breathe," Steve grins.

 

"Then you're the one stuck giving me mouth-to-mouth, you realise."

 

"I'm finding it hard to see a downside to this plan, Bucky."

 

"One thing at a time," Bucky says. "Bath first, CPR later."

 

"Okay, okay," Steve agrees mildly.

 

Bucky turns to kneel next to the tub. He leans into the porcelain and turns the faucets on, congratulating himself for not having a brain aneurysm at taking Steve's shirt off. Yay, he's a grown-up, he can undress his boyfriend who doesn't actually know he's his boyfriend yet.

 

"How hot do you want the water?" he asks Steve, running one hand under the spigot idly.

 

"What?" Steve asks.

 

Shit. Bucky forgot that Steve's hearing still isn't one hundred percent, and the water is pretty loud.

 

"How hot do you want the water?" Bucky repeats, a little louder as he turns to address Steve over his shoulder.

 

"Pretty hot," Steve answers, his eyes quickly meeting Bucky's from where they'd been looking at his ass, "my muscles are a little sore, it'll help me feel better."

 

"Gotcha." Bucky turns back to the tub with a barely-repressed grin -- it's nice to know he can get as good as he's giving -- and twists the hot water knob further. "Have any Epsom salts?"

 

"Under the basin," Steve says. Bucky hoists himself off the ground and goes digging in the cabinet beneath the sink. He finds a box of Epsom salts and a little scoop. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he liberally shovels some into the water. "That should help with your muscles, too." Bucky also finds some kind of nice-smelling bath liquid that he pours in. "Because everyone needs bubbles, Steve," he says matter-of-factly, and Steve laughs.

 

It doesn't take long at all for the bath to fill halfway. Bucky reaches out to the faucets and turns them off.

 

He scratches the back of his head. "Now, d'you want help to take the scrub pants off, or leave them on, or...?" Bucky doesn't really know what 'or' entails. Because he's not sure he's ready to see Steve naked.

 

Thankfully, Steve is decisive on the matter. He balances his hands on the toilet seat to stand up. Bucky gets up with him, holding his arms out, just in case Steve topples. "I'll take them off. Wet fabric like that always feels... heavy and wrong. But I'll ah... I'll keep my shorts on," he says, giving Bucky a small smile. "Gotta keep some mystery, right?" Steve gives a cute little shrug, and Bucky thinks his nervousness is probably the world's worst-kept secret right now.

 

Bucky wants to sigh in relief and simultaneously die a little inside. It's not as though seeing Steve naked has never crossed his mind, he just never thought the first potential time might be when he's injured. So... boxer briefs on? Probably for the best.

 

"Sounds like a plan," Bucky says, voice deceptively even.

 

Steve nods once and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of the scrubs. "I'll probably need your help getting the cuff around my cast, though?" he says.

 

"No problem," Bucky confirms. Sure, he can do that.

 

"Right." Steve pulls the scrubs down over his hips quickly, bending at the waist, before sitting back down on the toilet seat. He gets the material off his unencumbered foot, but predictably, it snags around the other ankle.

 

Bucky, who'd been steadfastly watching the cast to avoid getting an eyeful of anything else, kneels down to help. He unhooks the fabric from the plaster, as Steve lifts his foot off the ground, but they're still not quite wide enough to get his foot through.

 

"You weren't particularly attached to these pants, were you?" Bucky asks.

 

"Nope," Steve replies.

 

"Good." Finding the seam, Bucky pokes his fingers into it until it begins to rip. As gently as he can, he tears the seam until the pantleg is big enough and can fit over the cast comfortably. It's much easier to remove the scrubs now, so he does. Bucky then reaches for the trash bag and gets Steve's foot into it, gently tucking the ends around the rim of the cast. Finally finished, Bucky stands and folds the scrubs, placing them over the railing with the shirt.

 

Bucky can't help a quick glance to Steve's underwear because -- because well he just _can't --_ and chokes down a laugh.

 

Steve rolls his eyes as Bucky helps him stand. "Go ahead, they were a gift."

 

Bucky chortles as they shuffle over to the tub. "Strawberry underwear?" He asks, gesturing to the boxer briefs with a realistic strawberry print all over them.

 

"Clint got them for me for my birthday? I told him I liked strawberries. This was the result."

 

"Say no more," Bucky says, biting his lip. "I only laugh because I'm picturing you wearing them while dealing with a hostage scenario."

 

"You would," Steve replies derisively as Bucky grips his forearms and backs him up to the tub. Anchoring his feet against the tile, Bucky slowly starts to lower him down.

 

Steve winces as his injured hands grip Bucky's forearms, but he lowers himself anyway. "You think that's funny... shoulda seen the looks I copped... from the Swiss nurses..." Steve bites out.

 

His butt hits the water with a splash, and he sighs gratefully, even as Bucky laughs.

 

"Oh man. They totally had to cut you out of your tac suit and see the strawberries, didn't they?"

 

"They were far too professional to comment on it," Steve says, swivelling his bottom on the porcelain to lie lengthways. His left foot dangles outside the rim of the tub, and his head rests against the back. Steve closes his eyes, and lets out low groan of pleasure.

 

Bucky bites his lip. "Everything okay?"

 

Steve doesn't even crack open an eye. "Mhm." The bubbles have frothed up and cover up most of him in the tub. Bucky can't decide whether he's disappointed or not.

 

He lets Steve settle into the tub, wriggling down to bring as much of his body under the water level as he possibly can.

 

"I'll be right back," Bucky says, having an idea. He heads out of the bathroom and goes into the kitchen. He grabs a couple of bottles of spring water from the fridge, cracks one open and has a long pull. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he takes that and the other bottle back into the bathroom.

 

Opening the lid of the new bottle, he hands it to Steve. "Don't want you dehydrating in there," he says.

 

Steve takes the bottle gratefully and gulps half of it down.

 

Bucky stands there a little awkwardly as Steve watches him. "So uh... I can give you some privacy if you want--" Bucky starts, but Steve sits up a little straighter in the tub.

 

"Stay. Please. Talk to me?" Steve asks, his brow furrowed, and Bucky's head cocks to the side a little in unexpected pleasure.

 

"Okay," Bucky says, and sits down on the toilet seat. "Well, we've already covered the important topics like strawberry underpants... what else is there to talk about?"

 

Steve flicks some water at him and Bucky chuckles. "Tell me about your week? Pretty sure you know how mine went." Steve looks far more invested in stories of Bucky's week than he probably has any right to be. Maybe... just maybe... Steve missed him a little, too.

 

Now that's a nice thought.

 

Bucky starts to tell him about everything Steve missed while he was gone. He goes over cases he's been working on, activities he's been doing with certain groups, field trips, and is pleased to note Steve relaxing into their conversation. He interacts at different points, asking questions or making cheerful comments, as he uses a washcloth to absently scrub his skin.

 

Then the news changed about the situation in Geneva, and Steve's lips grow tight. Bucky tells him about how his co-workers and strangers talked about what was going on... how the information was everywhere, seeping into every conversation, and he didn't really care for the coverage that came with it. Throughout this part of the conversation, Steve appears shuttered and brooding. He no longer offers up comments, instead he drags his fingers over the surface of the water, watching it ripple.

 

Bucky could sugar-coat his feelings, or coddle Steve, but especially since he's returned from active service, Bucky feels very strongly about being open and transparent about things that bother him. He's found his mental health is a far kinder place for it, and that includes telling Steve what he really thinks about witnessing the horribly invasive news coverage 24/7.

 

Bucky gets to the point where Sam called him, and Steve knows everything that happened after that, when Steve finally breaks his silence.

 

"I'm sorry," he apologises, biting his lip.

 

"What for? You don't put the cameras on you."

 

"Not that. I'm sorry for..." Steve stops, and Bucky can see him attempting to find the right words for his apology, only to ultimately wave one hand impotently, "everything," he decides on instead.

 

Bucky cocks his head to the side. "Why?"

 

Steve looks minorly pained. "I had to go away, and it was dangerous, and then I got hurt, and you had no way to contact _anyone_ for information. Then you were mad when you came in, and--"

 

"Steve, stop."

 

"But I--"

 

" _Please_ ," Bucky implores holding up his palm. The strong gesture makes Steve clam up.

 

Bucky waits until Steve loses the expression that says he might butt in at any moment, before he asks a question. "Is being sent away part of your job, yes or no?"

 

"Yes, but--"

 

"While away, did you do your job to the best of your ability? Yes or no?"

 

"Well, _yes_ \--"

 

"Did you take any risks that jeopardised your life or the lives of your teammates and/or civilians?"

 

"I tried not to."

 

"Was there anything you could've done to prevent getting hurt?"

 

"No."

 

"Did you come back in one piece?"

 

Steve gives a little smile. "More or less."

 

Bucky sighs. "Then you did all you could to fulfil your mission. Steve, this is your _job_. I get it, _God_ do I get it. It's not easy, and it's not pleasant, but it has to be done. And you're... you're a fucking champion at it. The _only_ reason I was angry when I arrived was that you weren't following doctor's orders."

 

"Oh," Steve says. "I thought you might've... been upset that I got hurt." Bucky lets out a quiet snort and shakes his head. Steve looks adorably confused. "...Then you're _not_ mad that I got hurt...?" he hedges.

 

"Of _course_ I'm not mad. Shit happens. Unpreventable shit. As long as you're doing your absolute best... I believe in you." Bucky pauses. "Provided you're taking reasonable precautions at all times." He looks to Steve for confirmation, and the blond nods gravely. Satisfied, Bucky continues.

 

"Granted I don't know them very well, but you seem to have a pretty amazing team backing you up. As long as you don't go thinking you can handle serious shit on your own without them..." he sighs again. "I'm not saying I'm not gonna worry, otherwise I wouldn't be a very caring boyfriend if I _didn't_ , but I believe that you're going to do the very best that you can to get out of each situation safely.

 

"Because if you don't, I'll kill you myself."

 

Steve is staring at him, gobsmacked. Bucky winces, maybe it was too much.

 

"What did you say?" Steve asks, voice weirdly calm. Bucky starts. He just said a whole heap of stuff, Steve's going to have to be a little more specific.

 

"Oh shit. Did you hear any of that? I forgot about your ears. Um." Bucky curses, thinking back to all the touchstones in his little monologue... team back-up, worry, stay safe... "Well it was a really good fucking speech, I don't know if I can do it agai--"

 

"I heard the speech," Steve waves his hand dismissively. "What did you say about 'boyfriends'?"

 

Bucky freezes. Because _yeah_ he'd been meaning to say something but _no_ that is _definitely not_ how he was imagining. He's wondering if a quick backpedal is in order, until he takes a good look at Steve's face. His eyes are boring holes into Bucky's, a suddenly sweet and hopeful smile on his lips. It's enough to loosen his tongue.

 

"Yeah, well... if you didn't mind?" Bucky says, scratching the back of his head. "Kinda feels like we were heading there..."

 

"I think so, too," Steve says, and the accompanying grin is nearly blinding, and that's as good a response as any. Bucky stands to take two steps over to the bath, dropping to his knees on the mat. He cups Steve's face in his hands and, mindful of the bruises, kisses him tenderly once again.

 

Bucky's heart flutters in his chest as he feels Steve smile against his lips. It's the dumbest and somehow most perfect way for this particular information to come to light. He knew it was something he wanted to address with Steve, but thought it might've come out in slightly more adult-conversation clinical terms. The absent blurt wasn't expected, but now that it's done, it was perfect.

 

Everything feels like it happened in just the right way.

 

Steve breaks the kiss and touches his fingers ever so slightly to the side of Bucky's face. "This is a pretty timely revelation," he says against Bucky's lips.

 

"Why is that?" Bucky asks, one hand drifting down to encircle the back of Steve's neck.

 

"Because I'd feel kind of weird asking anyone other than my boyfriend if they'd mind washing my hair."

 

Bucky laughs, pressing a kiss against the corner of Steve's mouth. "I can do that," he says, hauling himself back onto his feet. "Where's your shampoo?"

 

Steve looks lazy and a little kiss-dazed. Bucky could quite easily get used to this. "There's some under this basin," he directs again, tracking every single one of Bucky's movements unabashedly now.

 

Bucky grabs some shampoo and conditioner, and also gets the glass from the sink. The edge of the bath was uncomfortable, so he also grabs a folded towel from the cupboard, and puts it over the porcelain rim.

 

Taking the glass and filling it with the hot water from around Steve, he looks critically at the blond. "Can you lean back a little, but still support yourself?"

 

Steve obliges. He looks up at Bucky with those big, blue eyes and it takes his breath away for a moment.

 

He's sure everything is written plainly across his face, but Steve doesn't mock him for it, instead smiling in a soft, guileless way.

 

"Close your eyes," Bucky instructs gently, and Steve immediately obeys. He can't help himself, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Steve's lips before pouring the water onto Steve's hair. One hand does that, while the other shields Steve's eyes from the water.

 

"Do you have any injuries on your scalp I should know about? Soreness anywhere?" Bucky asks.

 

"Nope, was wearing my helmet," Steve confirms, creaking his eyes open when the water stops, and moves to sit straight once again.

 

"Safety first," Bucky praises, and Steve's lips quirk. Bucky pours a moderate amount of shampoo into one palm, and coats his fingers. Steve's hair has gone a dark golden honey with the water, and he's itching to touch it, to separate the strands.

 

"Your hair's pretty dirty. Might have to 'lather, rinse, repeat' before it's actually clean."

 

"Whatever you've got to do, Bucky," Steve agrees mildly, nodding in encouragement.

 

Bucky grins. The first touch of his hands produces a muffled exhale from Steve, his eyes fluttering shut. As he works his fingers through the strands, gently pressing into his scalp, Steve lets out a moan that sounds on the edge of painful.

 

Bucky's hands freeze and release some of the pressure. Maybe it's a little too much for him, he'd better--

 

"Don't stop, Bucky, please," Steve nearly whines, eyelids only showing slivers of blue. "Feels real good."

 

Oh... _oh._ It's good. Like, _really_ good. Bucky bites his lip. While he wants Steve to feel good and relax, he's pretty clear on the fact that this is _all_ it's meant to be. He briefly considers stopping, but that wouldn't be terribly fair, either. Bucky exhales. He needs to stop getting ahead of himself, and just focus on what will be most beneficial to Steve right now. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?"

 

"I will," Steve promises fervently, pushing his head up into Bucky's hands. He's adopting _way_ too many of Babushka's mannerisms to be healthy.

 

Bucky goes back to the task at hand. It's entirely gratifying to watch Steve nearly dissolve under his touch. He's by no means an expert, but Bucky is a skilled amateur masseuse. Ever so gently, he washes Steve's hair and gives him a pretty damned fine scalp massage in the process. Once the shampoo's lather starts to look a little grey rather than white, Bucky asks Steve to lie back so he can rinse, and start again.

 

It takes two shampoos to one conditioner treatment to get Steve's hair looking clean and smelling better. Steve is a malleable, happily groaning lump through this entire process, allowing his head to move however Bucky wants it to. He even lolls it forward when Bucky supports his forehead with one hand, gently squeezing some tense muscles in the back of Steve's neck. The groans he produces are embarrassingly satisfying, and sometimes kind of sexy.

 

More than anything, it's gratifying to see Steve really _relax._ It's definitely been happening more and more over the weeks they've been getting to know one another, but at this moment, this is the most vulnerable and the most _human_ he has ever appeared.

 

Bucky can even forget that he's nearly naked, because this is about helping Steve's healing process by making him feel good.

 

Judging by the response, it's working.

 

If he's being honest, Bucky unexpectedly enjoys the sweet intimacy and domestic feel to the act of washing Steve's hair. It's just nice to be able to take care of someone who spends so much time taking care of just about everyone else. And to do so with something as simple as washing his hair... it's not just making _Steve_ feel good.

 

After the final condition and rinse, Steve opens his eyes. He looks like he's just woken up from the most glorious nap.

 

"You're amazing," he mumbles, and Bucky successfully doesn't flush. Because that's _his_ super power, apparently.

 

"Are you ready to come out yet, or do you wanna turn into a prune?"

 

Steve's eyelids flutter, his eyes opening just a little wider. "Think I'm ready to come out," he says, voice deep and lazy.

 

"Okay." Bucky drums his fingers against his lips, figuring out how he's going to accomplish this. "First, I'm going to grab you some clothes from your bedroom, if that's okay. Then I'll help you out of the tub, and we can move from there."

 

"Sounds like a plan, Sergeant," Steve says.

 

"Enough of that," Bucky scolds. "So, do I have permission to dig around in Captain America's underwear drawer, or not?"

 

Steve waves him off. "Go for it. Just know half the stuff is gag gifts from my colleagues."

 

" _Sure_. The whole 'Hawkeye bought me strawberry briefs' is really a big, fat lie, isn't it?" he asks as he backs out of the bathroom.

 

"You've got me," Steve deadpans, before flicking bubbles in Bucky's direction. Bucky shakes a disapproving finger and heads towards Steve's bedroom.

 

It occurs to Bucky as he pushes open the ajar door that he's never actually set foot in Steve's bedroom before. Their time together has always been spent out in his spacious living area, or in the kitchen.

 

Steve's bedroom is neat, but not so neat that it appears clinical. His bed is made, presumably from before he left for Geneva. The room is dark due to the black-out curtains in front of the window being drawn.

 

The first thing Bucky does is move straight to the window and open them up, letting in a stream of bright, white light.

 

It opens up the room to his gaze, and Bucky studies the detail. A pale green and white bedspread on a Queen bed makes it look fresh and inviting. There's a bedside table on the right with a lamp, a digital clock, a StarkPad and a dog-eared paperback on it. Two shallow closets are separated by a framed sepia-toned photograph. Bucky squints at it, recognising New York City, but it's definitely not modern. It's Old New York, as Steve must've been eminently familiar with back in the thirties and forties. A blue and white Brooklyn Dodgers pennant hangs proudly underneath it.

 

Bucky peruses the rest of the room, stopping to laugh when he sees that ridiculously ugly foam Sheriff's hat he won for Steve at Coney Island taking apparent pride of place on top of his dresser.

 

"You idiot," he mutters fondly, but that does lead him to where he needs to be. Bucky opens a couple of drawers and finds various items of clothing before he hits the underwear drawer. Sure enough, there are plain items that he can see Steve purchasing for himself, as well as ridiculous shit that could only be his friends buying him gag gifts.

 

Bucky needs clothes that are going to be able to go over the cast without too much trouble. That rules out a lot of those delightfully conservative underwear choices. He picks up a pair of boxer shorts with wide legs that should fit over the plaster, and digs around for something else to go over the top of them, finding a pair of grey boardshorts. They too have the advantage of wide legs and a drawstring waist. Further digging finds a stash of tee shirts, of which Bucky picks one at random.

 

With enough clothes to have Steve comfortable and not-naked, Bucky takes a last detour to the living room and retrieves Steve's remaining crutch. He enters the bathroom once again to find the blond waiting expectantly for him.

 

"Have fun poking around my stuff?" Steve asks.

 

Bucky sets the clothes down on the bench, and stands in front of the tub. "Yep. Jumped on your bed and rearranged your sock drawer. Ready to get out?"

 

Steve nods, swivelling his body in the bath to face the middle of the room. Bucky anchors his feet against the tub, taking a monkey grip to Steve's arms again. He counts to three, before using a considerable amount of effort to haul Steve up onto his right foot. Steve gives him a funny look when he's standing with one foot in and one foot out of the tub, and Bucky knows he's not going to be able to support Steve's _full_ weight to get him to step out. Instead, he gets Steve to sit on the edge of the tub and swing both feet out to plant them on the mat. He stands, and Bucky immediately puts a large towel around Steve's shoulders, who wraps it around himself snugly. Steve smiles at him gratefully, and Bucky grins back.

 

Bucky helps Steve to sit back down on the toilet seat. Steve murmurs a thank you and stretches his injured foot out in front. There's a pause where Bucky decides if he even dares to question how Steve's going to remove his soaked strawberry briefs, when Steve saves him.

 

"I'll be okay to get dressed if you want to finish the coffee you promised?" Steve says, reaching out to squeeze Bucky's hand with his fingertips.

 

"You sure?" Bucky queries.

 

"I'm sitting down. How much trouble could I get into?" He says, reaching for the pile of clothes.

 

Bucky smirks. "Have you _met_ you?"

 

Steve smiles winningly, until he sees the boxer shorts Bucky's brought in. They have a very nice drawing of Thor's hammer on them, but that's not the funny part.

 

"I haven't really worn these ones before... I'm not sure about the placement of Mjolnir," Steve says, frowning.

 

Bucky does his best to stifle a grin. "Not a fan of telling people the hammer is your penis?"

 

Steve cocks his head to the side. "I don't get it."

 

"You will," Bucky promises. "Call out if you get stuck, yeah?"

 

Steve shoos him out, and Bucky allows himself to be sent away.

 

He heads to the kitchen where Steve's overly-complicated coffee machine has been percolating away happily. By the time he's got enough coffee for two mugs, Steve is out of the bathroom. He looks as though he's headed to the kitchen on his crutches, but Bucky points to the sofa without even looking up.

 

"Okay, okay," Steve says. Picking his battles, he about-faces, and redirects towards the couch.

 

"Smart man," Bucky comments he adds some creamer to his coffee.

 

Steve eases himself down onto the sofa, and props his foot automatically onto the coffee table. "I know when I'm licked," he says, burrowing into the sofa cushions a little.

 

Bucky joins him, holding two mugs in one hand, and a box in the other. He puts one mug down on the table and hands Steve the other, handle facing out. Steve's large fingers gingerly go through, and he takes a sip. His eyes close again, and he smiles.

 

"Think you can do that one-handed?" Bucky asks, sitting down next to him.

 

"Mhm. Why?"

 

Bucky flips open the lid of Steve's amply-stocked first aid kit and rifles through it, finding a pair of rubber gloves to put on. "Your hand bandages are dirty. I'm going to redress them."

 

Steve's back is straight, and he holds out his left hand without any coaxing needed. "Good boy," Bucky teases, and Steve huffs out a chuckle in response.

 

The bandages are now off-white and torn from travel and the bath, and need to be changed. Even with Steve's accelerated ability to heal, his body still needs a hygienic environment to do so. Clean bandages are a must.

 

Also, it gives Bucky a little chance to check out Steve's injuries.

 

Steve is uncharacteristically passive as Bucky unwinds the bandage carefully. Beneath the length of material, there's a sterile pad covering his palm. Removing the soiled pad carefully, Bucky doesn't cringe or offer sympathy, just studies the injury carefully. It's ugly, with a deep groove going through his palm and large blisters up to his second knuckle. But it's not as bad as he expected it to be. In fact there's already much evidence of healing, with the edges of the abrasion already rounding off, not being as torn and jagged as they should be on an injury maybe eight hours old.

 

"How sore is it?" Bucky asks, turning to dig in the kit for some antiseptic cream.

 

"Steady throb, and the joints are stiff. Mostly..." Steve pauses, choosing his words, "The healing is often more uncomfortable than the injury. If I'm too still or my brain's unoccupied, I can... I can _feel_ the muscles re-knit or my skin growing." Steve gets quiet, his eye twitching minutely. "I hate that part."

 

Bucky nods, and thinks maybe he understands why he walked in on Steve hopping around vacuuming.

 

"I'm guessing it's been irrigated thoroughly by cute Swiss nurses?"

 

Steve nods. "The redhead did the clean-up, and the blonde bandaged me."

 

Bucky shakes his head. "Oh, Steve. And here I was thinking you preferred brunettes."

 

"Well, there _is_ this cute brunet doing the follow-up treatment," Steve drawls slowly, the smile evident in his voice, "Maybe you know who he is."

 

Bucky applies antiseptic cream to the lacerations. "Ugh, _that_ guy? Bad attitude and real grumpy before eleven a.m. Stupid name, too. What is it... Bentley? Barkley?"

 

Steve bumps their knees together as Bucky begins carefully wrapping Steve's hand in fresh gauze. "We _can't_ be talking about the same guy. Tall, broad, the most amazing smile. Always making me laugh, especially at myself, and the second-best medical treatment I've ever received in my life."

 

Bucky -- who'd been smiling steadily through the description -- cocks a brow. "Only second-best?"

 

Steve gives him a little smile. "Come on, you don't expect me to tell you you're better than my ma, do you?"

 

"Of course not!"

 

Steve grows quiet for a moment. Bucky hopes he's not getting despondent at the thought of his mother, but while there's a touch of melancholy in his expression, it's not strong enough to counteract a sweetness suddenly found there.

 

"But it's a very close second." Steve takes a deep breath. "She never coddled or babied me while patching me up. Never treated me like spun glass even though I think sometimes a stiff wind woulda knocked me over. She just... looked after me. You-- you're treating me like she would've."

 

Bucky is startled and surprisingly humbled at the comparison. He clears his throat and beckons Steve to switch. Steve puts down his coffee mug and offers his right hand.

 

"If I have to be ranked, I'm pleased to occupy the ranking between your esteemed mother, and some hot, Swiss nurses." He looks up at Steve. "They _were_ hot, right?"

 

"Indubitably," Steve concurs.

 

Bucky finishes redressing Steve's right hand, as the subject changes to what they're going to eat. Their favourite Thai place is a little restaurant close to Bucky's place, but they won't deliver quite as far as Steve's apartment.

 

"Well, seeing as you don't have any actual _food_ in this place, we could order and I could do a grocery shop before picking up the Thai," Bucky suggests, finally taking a sip of the coffee he brought over for himself.

 

"That's... not a bad idea," Steve says slowly, brow slightly furrowed.

 

"Don't go jumping for joy or anything," Bucky snarks, "I'm just trying to _feed_ you."

 

Steve forcibly gets rid of the frown and points to his foot. "Jumping for joy; against doctor's orders," he replies with a small smile.

 

"Damn right," Bucky says. "I could pick up anything else you need while I'm out, too. You only have a mild concussion, right?" Steve nods, and Bucky continues. "Round trip would probably be about an hour, give or take. Ninety minutes at the most. I think you'd be okay for that length of time."

 

"Yeah, I should be," Steve replies, but the frown is back.

 

Bucky arches a brow, pushing up off the sofa with his elbow to look at Steve intently. "Steve? What's wrong?"

 

Steve scratches the side of his neck. "You'd pick up anything else I need?"

 

"Of course," Bucky says immediately. "Thinking of something in particular?"

 

"Some clothes? Maybe a toothbrush?"

 

"Mmm, easy enough." He begins to lever himself off the sofa. "What sort of clothes are you aft-- hey!" Bucky lets out a little exclamation, when Steve catches his hand and tugs him down to the seat again.

 

"Sorry," Steve grins a little sheepishly. "But you're misunderstanding me."

 

"Okay... Care to explain?" Bucky squeezes his fingertips gently.

 

Steve takes a deep breath. His chin drops down, but eyes don't leave Bucky's face. "The clothes and the toothbrush are for you," he says. "I... I thought maybe you could stay the night?"

 

Bucky's eyes widen, exhalations becoming a little shallow at the unexpected invitation. Steve's watching his face searchingly, still gently holding Bucky's hand. Before Bucky can gather sounds to form coherent sentences, Steve pre-empts him, continuing in a rush of words.

 

"I have the spare bedroom, and the bed's really quite comfortable. You can bring your work with you, or anything else you need? I won't get in the way of that if you're busy... and I'm not suggesting we-- that is..." Steve exhales sharply, fingers twitching in Bucky's grip. "I've missed you, and I'd really like your company."

 

It takes a few moments for Bucky to _really_ process what Steve's asking. Steve looks a little stricken at the lack of reply, and objectively Bucky's sorry for that, but he's currently struck a little dumb, mouth moving but no real sound coming out.

 

"What do you think?" Steve asks hesitantly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but--"

 

"This apartment's cat-proof, right?" Bucky interrupts. Steve's face turns almost instantly joyful, a smile tugging at his lips. "Nevermind," Bucky says wryly, a smile beginning to curve one corner of his mouth, "you're about to find out."

 

"You'll stay?" Steve probes uncertainly, and damn the man's need for clear, verbal reassurance.

 

"Not without my best girl, I'm not." He pokes Steve in the thigh gently.

 

"I'd never presume to think that," Steve says with a solemn nod. The serious expression in no way masks the twinkle in his blue eyes, however.

 

Twinkle? _Ugh._ Bucky's turning into a soft-touch.

 

Bucky clears his throat. "Okay, so... I'm starving. If you want to call the Thai place, I'll head off. Because the sooner I leave, the sooner I can come back."

 

Steve nods effusively, but when Bucky goes to stand again, he gets pulled down for a second time. "What gives, Rogers?" Bucky asks grumpily.

 

"You're not going to leave without a kiss, are you?" Steve asks, one hand coming up to thread itself in Bucky's hair.

 

He allows Steve to bring their lips together, melting almost immediately into the kiss, both arms hooking around Steve's shoulders. So far today they've shared a myriad small kisses and two incredibly significant ones; this kiss firmly makes it into the latter category.

 

Steve tastes like strong coffee, lips slightly dry but still so very soft. Bucky's eyelids flutter, making sure their mouths slot together just right, and pressing his tongue just that little bit deeper. With a muffled groan, Steve's fingers clench in his hair, before he pulls off Bucky's mouth with a hiss.

 

"Ow," he murmurs, wiggling the fingers of his injured hand.

 

"Serves you right, hair-puller," Bucky says, pressing his own kiss-bruised lips together and tracing random patterns on Steve's bicep. "Just you wait until I cut it."

 

"Not too short," Steve prompts, before looking embarrassed. "Your hair's real nice as it is."

 

Bucky presses a quick, firm kiss to Steve's lips. "We can discuss my style choices when we're eating pad thai and coconut rice." Taking Steve's phone from the coffee table, he presses it into the blond's hand, before rising. "Call. Order. I'll be back soon."

 

Steve looks up at him fondly. "My wallet's on the kitchen bench. Take some money out, yeah?"

 

Bucky looks offended. "Think I'm a scab, Rogers?"

 

"I plan on ordering a _lot_ of Thai food. Also, groceries," he adds, and Bucky grudgingly admits, he's got a point. He wants to decently stock Steve's kitchen, and the guy eats a _lot._ A little extra money won't hurt."

 

Nodding in agreement, Bucky flicks a supremely lazy salute in Steve's direction. Moving to the kitchen, he lifts a few bills from Steve's wallet, before collecting his phone, car keys, and the spare that let him into the apartment in the first place. "Call me if you think of anything specific you want. Or if you start to feel unwell." Bucky squares his shoulders to Steve and fixes him with his most serious gaze. "If you move your ass off that sofa for any reason other than bathroom breaks, and if you fail to utilise crutches at any stage -- and don't be fooled; I _will_ find out, so help me -- that's a paddlin'."

 

Steve grins and returns a sloppy salute. "I understood that reference."

 

"And yet you somehow forget to not salute NCOs." Bucky shakes his head fondly. He opens the door and begins backing out of it. "Your homework is to find and watch the space coyote episode of the Simpsons. Go!"

 

"You got it!" is the last thing he hears Steve say before he shuts the door.

 

Bucky takes a moment to lean back against Steve's door wearing the biggest fucking grin he's possibly ever had on his face, before pushing away from the wood.

 

He has a job to do.

 

Bucky's compiling mental lists as he heads in the direction of home. The traffic gods are somehow smiling on him once again; each time he pulls up at the lights they turn green. It takes him less than twenty minutes to get to his first stop.

 

At the grocery store, he grabs a cart and whips around the aisles like a pro. Because it's his local one, he knows exactly where everything is that he wants, and is able to cut down on a lot of time. Bucky doesn't care for cooking much. It's not that he can't do it, it's that he doesn't want to a lot of the time. But perhaps for Steve, he can make a bit of an exception.

 

Remembering what Steve had in his refrigerator and pantry, Bucky grabs a lot of staples, and throws them into the cart: bread, meat, pastry, milk, cheese, vegetables, flour and sugar... he's got a few ideas already about what he can make. Anything else can probably be Googled. Bucky also makes sure to pick up a roll of baking paper as some cookie dough. Because cookies are awesome.

 

He grabs a few comfort and snack foods too, as well as a box of Babushka's favourite treats and some kitty litter. Bucky has her trained well enough that she'll go wherever her litter box is, but it won't hurt to bribe her with treats in a new environment.

 

The last aisle he goes down has medical supplies. He doubts there's an over the counter painkiller that will provide any relief to Steve's souped-up body, but he _does_ grab more antiseptic and fresh dressings. Finally, a colourful box catches his eye just before he leaves, and Bucky's laughing too much at it to leave it on the shelves. It _definitely_ goes into the cart.

 

Bucky heads to the check-out with a half-full cart; anything he's forgotten can be picked up at a later stage, he just really wants to move on to his second destination asap.

 

His phone chimes just as he gets in his car.

 

_Steve: The space coyote had a really cool voice._

_Bucky: Look up Johnny Cash on Youtube._

_Steve: Will do. After I watch the episode about Frank Grimes._

Bucky chuckles as he throws his phone on the passenger seat.

 

He makes excellent time to his apartment. Mindful he has perishables in the car, Bucky gives himself ten minutes to grab everything he might need for an overnight stay.

 

Opening his apartment door, Bucky immediately heads to his bedroom. He pulls a sports bag out of the bottom of his closet and throws some comfortable clothes to wear and some worn pajamas.

 

It occurs to him then, that Steve didn't necessarily specify _how long_ he wanted Bucky to stay. That is, he only mentioned one night, but the guy is going to stay injured for more than twenty-four hours...

 

Bucky's happy to let Steve set the terms of how many nights he's inviting Bucky to stay at his home, but just in case, throws in a few extra pairs of underwear, socks, and more than one change of clothes. Toothbrush and some basic toiletries follow. His laptop and current files get thrown into an all-purpose hand trolley that he sometimes carts equipment to and from his sessions with.

 

Throughout the extremely fast packing process, Babushka follows Bucky around, weaving between his legs and sometimes almost tripping him up. Once she sights the bag on the bed, however, she leaps up and makes a fabric nest out of his clothes.

 

"Really?" Bucky says, "You gonna put hair all over my clothes, Bushka?" Babushka meows at him. He grins and shakes his head.

 

Last, but not least, he grabs Babushka's sleeping basket, her spare, clean litter tray, and a pet pack. She perks her ears up cutely and is just about to get up when Bucky swoops in and scoops her up.

 

The struggle is real, trying to get an obstinate kitten into a pet pack. She starts to worm around in his hands, flopping and pushing her stubborn little paws against his chest, yowling as though she's suffering the greatest betrayal and indignity at his hands.

 

He murmurs encouragement and ultimately gets her into the pack. Once there, she settles down immediately, blinking big green eyes. "I don't even know why you fight me," he mutters, "all you're going to do is fall asleep in there." Babushka just meows once at him.

 

"Stubborn. It's why you get along with Steve so much," he says as he secures the pack's fastenings. Once in safely, Bucky loads himself up with belongings, locks up, and heads to his car for the third and final stop.

 

Sitting down in the driver's seat once again, Bucky takes the opportunity to check in with Steve.

 

_Bucky: How are you doing?_

_Steve: I've found more episodes of_ Kitchen Nightmares. _Gordon Ramsay is teaching me new swear words._

_Bucky: I'll bet. You ordered from_ Baan Thai _, right? I'm heading there now._

_Steve: Yes. I may've gone overboard on the samosas._

Bucky grins as he kicks over the engine. It takes just under fifteen minutes to the restaurant. He leaves a mewling Babushka in her pet pack in the back seat. "I'll be right back, Bushka," he consoles.

 

The owner's daughter is sitting at the front desk, doing what looks like homework. She looks up when he enters and smiles.

 

"Hello, Mister Bucky," she greets, standing up.

 

"Hi, Joan," Bucky smiles, "I'm here to pick up my order."

She takes a slip of paper from the front counter, and heads to the kitchen. Joan's gone for a minute, before she re-enters carrying an extremely full box.

 

Bucky steps forward to help so she doesn't over-balance, and looks inside. It is absolutely packed to the brim with food. Steve wasn't kidding when he said he'd order big, and Bucky's suddenly glad he wasn't too insistent not to take some extra money from him.

 

"You didn't call and order this time, Mister Bucky," Joan says conversationally.

 

Bucky sets the box down on the counter and grabs his wallet, handing over a _lot_ of money. "No, my friend did."

 

"Mister Steve has a very nice voice," she says as she hands him change, and Bucky's not imagining the dusky rose tint to her cheeks. Because of course, Steve introduced himself by name over the phone.

 

Bucky gives her a little smile. "I think so too," he agrees. "He's not feeling so great right now, so I decided to pick up his favourite Thai food. He loves your dad's coconut rice."

 

"Oh. Oh!" Joan perks up. "I'll be right back."

 

"Joan--" Bucky starts, but she's already disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments pass before she returns, another container of the rice in her hands. "For Mister Steve," she says, the blush darkening as she adds it to his order.

 

Bucky knows her family, knows how giving gifts is a source of tremendous pride, and how insulted Joan -- and by extension, her father -- will be if it's knocked back. So instead of protesting, he thanks her profusely. There's not much change left from the money he handed over for the food, but enough to leave her a generous tip in the jar by the register before he exits.

 

Finally back in the car, Bucky digs out his phone.

 

_Steve: God help me, but I think Gordon Ramsay is brilliant._

_Bucky: What happened to the guy who says reality shows make him want to punch people?_

_Bucky: ETA 25 mins w/ food._

_Steve: that guy's stuck on the sofa with a cast on his foot, waiting for his boyfriend to bring food home._

Bucky can't stop laughing as he peals away from the curb.

 

There are a few traffic snarls on the way back to Steve's, as it's creeping closer to rush hour, but he still makes decent time. By the time he's back at Steve's apartment, roughly eighty-two minutes has passed.

 

Not bad for a ninety minute estimate.

 

Bucky unloads Babushka's pet pack and the food, using the elevator this time to head straight to Steve's apartment.

 

When he opens the door, Steve is exactly where Bucky left him. Steve looks up to find Bucky scrutinising him carefully. Bucky's eyes drift to the bottle of water that wasn't there when he left, and he arches one brow in question. Immediately, Steve holds his hands up in surrender. "I used the crutches!" he exclaims.

 

Bucky harrumphs, but inside his head he's laughing his ass off. He thinks he just scared Captain America.

 

Mouth twitching in amusement, Bucky walks further into the apartment. He places the food on the coffee table, but still holds the pet pack. Steve puts his arms out to take Babushka straight away, but Bucky holds off. "She has to adjust to being in a new environment first," he explains.

 

Steve nods slowly. "What do you need to do?"

 

"Leave her in the spare room alone for about an hour, with her litter tray. She'll get used to the smells and the sounds of the place, and then she can come out and explore."

 

Bucky's done this before. He's introduced Babushka to his home, the office, and even the VA like this. Babushka is startlingly adaptable, so he doesn't envision any problems with introducing her to Steve's place as well.

 

If all goes well, she might spend more time here in the future.

 

Bucky sets her to the side until he can get the rest of her things from the car. Heading back out to the living room, he finds Steve rooting around in the box of Thai food, a samosa hanging out of his mouth. Caught, Steve looks up guiltily, and tries to chew the samosa as quickly as possible. Bucky waves away any half-formed apologies. "Eat. I'm going to go get the groceries."

 

"I can help--" Steve starts.

 

"How?" Bucky counters, and that shuts the guy up.

 

"I can hold the elevator button?" he suggests.

 

Bucky chuckles. "Don't worry, I've planned ahead," he says. "Eat your samosas, I'll be back in five."

 

With a spring in his step, Bucky heads back to his car. He loads up the groceries and Babushka's things into the wheeled trolley, slinging his sports bag across his body. Slowly but surely, he gets everything perfectly balanced enough to make one trip.

 

The first thing Bucky does when he gets back to Steve's apartment is get a kitty litter tray ready for Babushka. He places it in the corner of the spare bedroom, and scatters some treats around, talking to her the whole while in soothing tones. He opens up the pet pack, but doesn't try to grab her out. Instead, he leaves it to her to get out and explore on her own, quietly closing the door behind him.

 

"Babushka okay?" Steve asks as soon as Bucky returns to the living room.

 

"Yeah. She'll poke around in her own time and get comfortable," Bucky responds as he makes his way to his trolley packed with food, "When I hear her meow at the door, she's ready to come out."

 

Bucky goes to unpack the groceries.

 

"Aren't you coming to eat?" Steve asks with his mouth full, brows adorably going up in the middle.

 

"I will," Bucky says as he unpacks the groceries. "Just gotta put the perishables in the fridge. Don't want to be smelling spoiled meat later." He grins, and Steve nods.

 

It doesn't take long to get the refrigerator and freezer items packed away. He leaves the rest of the groceries, grabs some napkins, silverware, and a couple of plates. Bucky heads back out to sit next to Steve, passing over a plate and fork.

 

Steve grins and takes the items with greasy fingers, leaning over to kiss Bucky on the mouth.

 

"You taste like samosas," Bucky teases, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

 

"In other words; delicious," Steve answers with a grin, as he digs through the box for food. "Traditionally, a kiss tasting of samosa means 'I missed you'," he adds, giving Bucky a sidelong glance.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he really can't help the spark of warmth that unfurls somewhere deep in his chest. Instead, he too goes digging for Thai food.

 

The meal is tasty, the company pleasant. Bucky hasn't eaten since just after Sam woke him up, and Steve apparently hasn't eaten since he got discharged from hospital, hence the disgusting amounts of food needed.

 

Bucky doesn't think he'll get tired of the happy noises Steve makes when he eats coconut rice. Steve catches him looking a few times, but never seems self-conscious. He just quirks his eyebrows and licks away the grains of rice stuck to his lips.

 

Steve nods towards Bucky's pile of things after he's made a major dent into the boxed take-out. "What did you bring with you?" he asks between mouthfuls.

 

"Cat bed for Babushka and some food and treats -- though I expect her to join me and go through with her nightly attempt on my life by asphyxiation at some stage -- some clothes, and a little bit of work from the office.

 

Steve stops eating. "I didn't really think about me interrupting your work time. I'm sorry."

 

Bucky waves away the concern. "I've been working from home the last few days, and already done a lot. It's a 'just in case' move. Besides, I've earned a break, don't you think?"

 

Steve nods effusively, shovelling some more pad thai into his mouth.

 

It shouldn't be cute, it should be disgusting.

 

But here we are.

 

Bucky turns the TV back on as they finish eating. Somehow, between the pad thai and the penang curry, Bucky's kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out on the sofa until his feet end up in Steve's lap.

 

Steve doesn't seem to mind.

 

And that's something that Bucky finds himself thinking about as he chews slowly. He can't remember the last time he felt so at ease with one person. Of course he likes most of his co-workers, and relaxes around his friends, but the extent to which he has come to unwind when in Steve's presence is quite huge. Bucky definitely hasn't felt like this since before his time with the Rangers.

 

It's daunting, but also nice.

 

Bucky keeps his ear angled to the spare room. Sure enough, a little while after they finish eating, there's a soft, scuffling sound at the door. Bucky gets up from the sofa and pads over to the bedroom. He crouches down and gently opens the door.

 

Babushka is on the other side, looking slightly miffed, but otherwise quite normal.

 

Steve's head pokes up off the back of the couch and observes, just eyes and scruffy blond hair.

 

Babushka squeezes her lithe little body next to Bucky, who puts his hand on her back.

 

"You'd make him really happy if you went over there, you know," Bucky comments in a soft voice. He's fairly certain Steve's hearing isn't fully healed enough to make out his words.

 

Babushka, being the miniature queen she is, does a circuit of the living room first, checking out any good hidey holes and eyeing up the curtains as potential enemies until she rounds the sofa to see Steve.

 

Bucky has to keep from laughing when her cool, aloof cat-ness suddenly disappears and she once again turns into the biggest dork of all time.

 

"Bushka!" Steve exclaims happily as she bounds forward, leaping up on to the cushion next to him.

 

She strains to reach into his large hands to be petted, and Bucky knows he's now lost her for the rest of the afternoon. Because if there's one thing about Steve, it's that he's devoted to petting Babushka as much as she deems necessary.

 

She _always_ deems it necessary.

 

Bucky observes them for a few moments, trying in vain to keep a grumpy expression, and failing miserably.

 

"Stupid loveable boyfriend," he mutters.

 

"What was that?" Steve asks, unable to tear his gaze away from the small calico.

 

"I said 'do you want more coffee'?" Bucky raises his voice.

 

"Please," Steve says.

 

Bucky collects their mugs for a caffeine refill, and Steve puts forth his desire to watch something light and uncomplicated. Bucky knows just the thing.

 

"I got croup when I was nine, and missed a week of school," Bucky tells Steve. "Uncommon to get it at that age, but my ma was terrified I'd give it to my baby sisters, so I spent the week at my gran's apartment. She loved old musicals, and I kinda like them, too. She put _Singin' in the Rain_ on for me on the first day, and I made her put it on every day for the rest of the week. You shoulda heard me try and sing along with the little seal bark I had going on."

 

Steve laughs softly at Bucky's admission. "You think I'll like it?"

 

"I really do," Bucky answers. He finds _Singin' in the Rain_ and plays it. Steve is instantly drawn in, even moreso when they both realise that, while made in 1952, it's set in the 20's when Steve was only a little boy.

 

"I remember the marquee at the local theatre when _The Jazz Singer_ was released," Steve murmurs at one point, and Bucky finds that fascinating.

 

Bucky likes to cast sidelong glances at Steve as they watch, seeing him light up at being presented with a world that seems a little more familiar to him than the one he lives in.

 

They both get engrossed in the movie. Bucky kicks his feet up and crosses his ankles on the coffee table, and Steve compulsively pets Babushka, eyes glued to the screen. Over the course of the movie, Steve sinks back into the cushions, then slips down to the side to lean against Bucky's arm. His legs go up to rest along the sofa, cast on the armrest. In this position, Steve ends up resting his head on a pillow, against Bucky's thigh. Bucky finds himself sometimes absently running his fingers through his boyfriend's hair.

 

Eventually, as the music swells and the credits begin to roll, Bucky stretches. He looks down to Steve to ask if he needs anything, and has to bite his lip savagely.

 

Steve is asleep on the pillow in his lap, lips parted as he breathes. His arm is curled loosely in front of him, and Babushka has nestled herself in the crook of his elbow.

 

Bucky leans forward towards the coffee table ever so carefully to pick up his phone. Babushka opens one eye at the movement, but she's feeling far too content and comfortable to be bothered moving from her position.

 

He snaps a quick photo, and grins at the result, before taking a look at the time.

 

With care, he gently extricates himself out from underneath Steve's head, who barely stirs. Bucky brushes a hand gently over Steve's forehead, smiling as the crease there smooths out, before heading over to the belongings he brought from home.

 

Bucky quietly takes his duffel, files and computer into the spare room and puts them on the pale blue comforter, before sitting on the bed. He bounces a little on the mattress. It's comfortable, and he should sleep the night. Bucky's never been particularly fussy about where he sleeps, but depending on the mattress, _how_ he sleeps can range from comfortably for nine hours, to wretchedly for three.

 

With a sigh, he flops back to lie on the mattress, interlacing his fingers across his belly. It's the first time he's really been alone to consider the situation he's found himself in. When running errands, his brain was only focused on the tasks at hand in the shortest time possible.

 

Now with the quiet, he has leave to think about what's happened since he woke up. From text alerts sending him into a blind panic, to becoming Steve's caregiver while he heals, and defining their current relationship as 'boyfriends'... it's been a very eventful day.

 

And it's not over yet.

 

He takes himself back out to the living room. The non-perishable groceries and left-over Thai join the rest in the kitchen, and Bucky ponders something to eat. He's not particularly hungry after their enormous lunch, but Steve probably will be when he wakes.

 

Bucky looks over at Steve still sleeping on the couch, and gets derailed by food thoughts at the distracting image.

Babushka has left the crook of Steve's arm to nestle between his shoulderblades, the tiny calico only emphasising the broadness of Steve's shoulders. For his part, Steve's eyes are closed, dark crescents on pale skin, and his breathing is even. He deserves a relaxing nap. He deserves a lot more than that, Bucky thinks, but a relaxing nap is what Bucky can give him now, so he'll do it.

 

He shakes himself out of Steve-watching, and goes back to the food predicament.

 

Left-overs are okay, but they're still good for another day, and two meals of Thai might be a little much.

 

A sudden thought occurs, and Bucky lights up, knowing already he got the right ingredients. He raids the bought groceries -- as well as Steve's cupboards -- before playing a game of 'where's the saucepan' in the kitchen drawers.

 

He must be horribly in like with Steve to cook voluntarily.

 

Bucky glances up to take in the sight of the flattened tuft of blond hair resting on the couch cushion.

 

Yeah, terribly, horribly in like with him.

 

And for that reason and that reason alone, Bucky's decided to make his grandma's mac and cheese.

 

Bucky generally finds cooking a chore. He does enough to keep his body alive, but it's usually pretty simple fare, with the occasional cooking or baking experiment. He loves _eating,_ don't get him wrong, but time spent cooking is time he'd rather spend doing almost anything else.

 

Here at Steve's place, however, doing it for someone else rather than for himself, Bucky finds the activity oddly soothing.

 

While the pasta is boiling and after the flour mixture is prepared, Bucky finds himself over at Steve's record player. He puts on an album of the Count Basie Orchestra nice and low for some white noise in the background.

 

Steve stirs, but doesn't wake.

 

Nodding his head in time with the music, Bucky goes back to the kitchen. The pasta is ready to come off the stove, and it's time for the cheese sauce to go on.

 

Stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon, Bucky pokes at the cheese as it melts. A delightful smell starts to fill the kitchen, and despite his thoughts to the contrary, his mouth starts to water a little. It's been ages since he's made this, mainly because it's a comfort food and he never wants it to lose its inherent powers of awesome when he eats it. He smiles, hoping Steve will like it as much as he does.

 

He's just getting to the point where the sauce is done and it's ready to go over when he feels someone approaching him from behind. He starts to tense automatically, but a subtle clearing of the throat gives him instant recognition of the approaching presence as _Steve._ Bucky's not quite sure _how_ he knows exactly... even if Steve hadn'tve cleared his throat, it's a combination of the smell of the shampoo Bucky used in his hair, and the weight of his tread -- slightly off due to his injury -- also the fact that he hears Babuska meow at his feet and rub against his leg. She wouldn't be walking beside _just anyone._..

 

A chin rests on his shoulder, one arm going around his waist. "You're cooking things," Steve marvels. "You're in my kitchen and you're cooking things."

 

"I'd be more offended at the surprise in your voice, except that it's totally warranted," Bucky replies, inclining his head a few degrees to the left so it touches Steve's. Steve turns to kiss his cheek.

 

"But it's so weird. You barely cook for yourself, and yet here you are. It's like I'm having a wonderful dream, except I'm awake," Steve mumbles against his skin.

 

"Aaaand now I'm starting to get insulted," Bucky returns with a smirk.

 

"Don't be insulted," Steve nuzzles, "no matter what it ends up tasting like, I'll still eat it."

 

If Steve weren't balancing on one foot, a crutch perched under his left arm, Bucky would give him _such_ a shove. "Gee _thanks_ , pal. I'll have you know many people have eaten my cooking and gone on to live healthy, normal lives."

 

" _Many_ people?" Steve queries.

 

"Okay, four. _Four_ people have lived. I don't just cook for anyone, you know," Bucky grouses, playing up imaginary hurt feelings.

 

"And I feel very honoured," Steve reassures, managing to dial his sarcasm down somewhat. He kisses Bucky on the cheek again and stands up straight. "What are you making?"

 

"My grandma's mac and cheese," Bucky answers. "It's pretty awesome. I know you ate not that long ago, but I figured you'd still probably be hungry when you woke up."

 

In response to that, Steve's stomach gurgles. He gives Bucky an almost bashful smile. "You thought right."

 

Bucky finishes up the mac and cheese and dishes it out, while Steve grabs some water bottles from the fridge. He hobbles back to the couch with one crutch under his arm.

 

Before rejoining Steve on the couch, Bucky takes a minute to make sure Babushka has her dinner, putting out a little bowl of kibble and tinned food for her, which she takes to immediately.

 

He also turns up the sound on the record player; it makes for pleasant background noise while they eat. Steve looks to Bucky and gives him a smile that lights a spark in Bucky's chest all the way across the room.

 

The rest of the evening passes in quiet, comfortable fashion. They have dinner together on the couch, Bucky's legs crossed on the cushions, one knee pressing into the meat of Steve's thigh. Steve pauses from time to time to give him macaroni and cheese flavoured kisses, which aren't as disgusting as he might've imagined.

 

Steve wants to take a break from movies and TV, and mentions to Bucky he has a box of games that were given to him after he was revived. Bucky goes rooting around in the spare bedroom closet for them. His searching turns up a cardboard box that has a pretty familiar-looking selection of card and board games. There's a regular deck of cards, as well as UNO deck, Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit... all pretty common household games. He takes the box back into the living room, sitting on the sofa.

 

Bucky snorts as he holds up a familiar colourful box. " _Twister_ is definitely going to have to wait," he says before putting it to the side.

 

Retrieving a regular deck of cards and making sure their plates are safely put to the side, Bucky and Steve play a few rousing hands of Gin Rummy. It's fun and relaxing, and it gets Steve laughing, and that's never not a good thing.

 

The laughter quickly changes to disbelieving curses when Steve gets violently introduced to the cruelty of the 'draw 4' card in UNO. He ends up casting dispersions upon Bucky's parentage while Bucky laughs his head off.

 

"This is shit. I'm not sure why we're dating in this particular moment," Steve mutters as he picks up four cards from the deck.

 

Bucky gives him a saccharine-sweet grin. "Watch your fucking language, Cap," he says, which only makes Steve lose the little composure he had, and start laughing once again.

 

When Bucky catches Steve muffle his third yawn in the middle of a game of _Go Fish_ , he puts his cards face-down on the coffee table. "Hey," he says softly, "You've earned an early night if you want to take it."

 

Steve looks as though he's set to put up a token protest, but another huge yawn overtakes his face. "Okay," he says sleepily, rubbing his eye.

 

Bucky stands up and collects their dinner bowls; he really should've rinsed them immediately, the cheese has congealed down the bottom and now they're going to have to be scrubbed. But that's a problem for Future-Bucky. Present-Bucky puts them in the sink with a bit of water to soak, resolving to look at them tomorrow.

 

"Would you mind if I had a quick shower?" Bucky asks. "Feeling a little funky from running around doing all those errands."

 

"Of course not, Buck. You know where everything is," Steve says.

 

"Thanks. I won't be long." Bucky trusts Steve to be able to stay out of trouble for ten minutes in his own apartment.

 

The hot shower is soothing. In fact, the only bad part about it is letting his mind stray to remember that Steve was bathing exactly where he's standing mere hours ago. These are not relaxing thoughts conducive to winding down. Bucky deliberately shelves those thoughts, and goes back to the process of bathing.

 

Bucky gives his hair a quick wash with the same shampoo and conditioner he used on Steve, and dries off, changing into a pair of sweats and a comfortably worn-in college tee.

 

He leaves the bathroom, drying his hair, to find the living room deserted, all lights off. It's still early, not even nine p.m, but Bucky's suddenly aware of how tired he is. After the pressure of the last few days, combined with running errands and looking after Steve, not to mention the physical and emotional peaks and troughs of the day, Bucky's pretty wiped out.

 

He walks to Steve's bedroom door and stops. His boyfriend -- and ain't that a thought that makes him smile -- is lying on his mattress. The comforter is folded down, but the sheet is still pulled up. He's propped up with some pillows, his StarkPad and Babushka cradled in his lap. Bucky continues to dry his hair and watches Steve quietly, taking in the cute moment with a small smile.

 

Bucky eventually knocks on the doorframe softly, and either Steve's too engrossed in what he's doing, or maybe Bucky didn't knock loud enough, because there's no response. Using a closed fist rather than a knuckle, Bucky knocks a bit louder. When Steve looks up with a big smile, Bucky's breath catches in his throat a little.

 

"Hey," Steve says, tapering down to a little grin. "I'm tired but I'm not ready to sleep yet."

 

Bucky leans against the doorframe. "That's okay. Getting into bed is at least a step in the right direction."

 

Steve stares at him for a beat. "So... you want to hang out with me for a bit longer? You know, if you're not too tired, that is."

 

Bucky only hesitates a moment before he pushes himself away from the doorframe. He hangs his damp towel on the door handle and heads in. Steve shuffles to one side to allow Bucky comfortable room next to him. Crawling onto Steve's bed is a little daunting, but no less daunting than having to bathe him, so Bucky can pony up and deal.

 

Babushka seems happy to see her human and immediately shifts her allegiances to Bucky, nestling in his lap. Steve looks wounded, but Bucky rolls his eyes. "You start feeding her and changing her litter tray, and she'll prefer you more, too."

 

He notices that Steve's ditched the shorts for a pair of soft-looking pajama pants. "Hey, you got changed," Bucky remarks.

 

"I've been dressing myself for a few years now, Buck," Steve replies.

 

Bucky's suddenly reminded of Steve's Mjolnir boxer shorts. "You watching anything in particular?" he asks.

 

"Not really. Have something in mind?"

 

Bucky grins. "Yeah. I'm about to enlighten you to my comments about your boxer shorts from before," he says as pulls up _Doctor Horrible's Sing-along Blog_ on the StarkPad. They settle back and begin to watch.

 

Steve's engrossed in the story, fingers clenching around the tablet at key moments. As the show progresses, their heads draw closer and closer together, and their bodies slide down from sitting upright against the bedhead, to lie prone on the mattress.

 

Bucky's starting to nod off at the end, jolted awake by Steve's little gasp at the end. "Y'okay, buddy?" Bucky asks, speech a touch slurred with sleep.

 

"I... uh. I'm not sure I'm meant to feel that much for the villain," Steve says, sounding eminently conflicted.

 

Bucky relaxes back down onto the pillow. "The hero _was_ a big blowhard, though. So. Y'know. Forgiven."

 

"I think I need to see something happy now," Steve says. He chooses another video and they keep watching. After being startled a little more awake, Bucky watches Steve's Youtube selections with detached interest. One of Steve's hands holds up the StarkPad, the other traces patterns over the back of Bucky's right hand where it lies between them on the mattress.

 

Bucky feels the gentle rub of Steve's bandages tickling the back of his hand. The contact is soothing, and he starts to crash hardcore from his very tiring day. Steve's even breathing combined with Babushka's purring both conspire against him to make his eyelids heavy. He tries to fight it, but it's ridiculously difficult.

 

Bucky hits the point where he's self-aware enough to know he's becoming too tired to move. He _should_ get up and go to the spare room, and he should do it _now_. But he tells himself he'll still be okay to go in five minutes. He's just going to rest his eyes and listen to the murmur of the StarkPad for a tiny bit longer. It'll be fine.

 

The last thing he remembers is Steve's hand brushing lightly across his shoulder, and his body is too heavy to move.

 

***  
  
Bucky wakes to the sound of a muffled choking. His eyes snap open, and he pushes off the mattress in a vague panic. Nothing looks familiar, the bed feels wrong, there's too much light--

 

The idea that he is somewhere familiar -- even if total recall is tough upon just waking up -- and that it's somewhere safe, occurs to him, and Bucky latches onto that feeling and tries to get his eyes to work.

 

Eventually, the room comes into focus, and Bucky recognises his surroundings.

 

Steve's bedroom. He's in Steve's bedroom and it's daylight. He has a vague recollection of watching things and feeling tired, but doesn't remember much past that point.

 

The choking noise is still going on. Bucky flicks his eyes towards Steve and finds him struggling with Babushka lying across his face. A tiny kitten shouldn't be causing Captain America so much trouble, but Steve's movements are sloppy and most likely, sleep-addled as well.

 

Bucky should help. He really should. But he's exhausted and it's funny, so does the only other available option. He starts chuckling.

 

Steve finally pushes Babushka off his face at the sound, spitting out a little hair as he does. Babushka, mortally offended, dashes off to go sulk in her cat basket.

 

The 'sucked lemon' expression Steve has going makes Bucky laugh more, throat husky from sleep. Now that his location and situation have been sorted, Bucky settles back down on the mattress, facing Steve. He's still tired as fuck and not about to go anywhere.

 

"Not so cute now, is it," he mumbles, words slightly muffled into the sheet.

 

"Go back to sleep, smart-ass," Steve comments, still wearing a comically indignant expression, hair completely flat on one side.

 

"Yessir," Bucky slurs, falling back into slumber, the soft trace of fingers against the back of his hand ushering him there faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's strawberry underwear: http://fashiongossiplondon.com/ahxax/Images1/Boxers/RudeMixBoxer/Food/stawberry1.jpg
> 
> CW thing. I started writing this before I saw CW. When Steve got blown through the doors of the elevator and fell down the shaft, I swear I nearly had a conniption XD 
> 
> I'm working on the next part now, which will be a direct continuation of this part. :)


	7. Dating (week 8 - redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One As The Caregiver  
> * The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah is my gem of a woman once again. WITHOUT HER, YOU GUYS WOULDN'T BE GETTING COOL SHIT, HONESTLY. You're so my fave. 
> 
> For ease of reading, during this chapter when Russian is spoken, i've just translated it, but put it between (like in comics) so you know a foreign language is being spoken. Sometimes it's jarring to have either cyrillic or phonetic russian translations that you have to look up in the course of the reading. So here we are. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and feedback, guys. I've been in bed for the last 5 days with a throat infection. So happy fun times. Writing got done. 
> 
> I'm starting on one of my two tangential sequels for POW right now which are SO less fluffy than this, so i'm not sure when the next part of this is coming out. I'll probably have to write bits in between to cheer me up. :)

**_The One As The Caregiver_ **

**_(Location: Steve's Apartment)_ **

 

Bucky sleeps for another hour or so before he fully wakes up. After removing Babushka's little body from his face, Steve drifts off again and is still sleeping when Bucky slips off the bed. Giving one last glance towards his sleeping boyfriend, Bucky backs out of the room and half-closes the door.

 

He walks out rubbing his face, only to be stopped by Babushka giving him a death glare from her basket just outside the spare bedroom door.

 

"Don't look at me like that," Bucky chides, "if you hadn't tried to suffocate him, you'd still be in there."

 

He detours to the main bathroom to relieve himself, wash his face, and brush his teeth. After a jaw-splitting yawn, he shuffles into the kitchen. Bucky looks into the sink and sees mac and cheese congealed in bowls and instantly regrets the laziness of Past-Bucky. He scours out the dishes, before ferreting around for breakfast.

 

It's where Steve finds him half an hour later, when the smell of bacon and pancakes wafts through his apartment. Steve hobbles out with his crutches, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes heavily-lidded and looking stupidly attractive.

 

"Mornin'," Bucky says, flipping a pancake onto the finished pile.

 

"G'morning," Steve yawns widely. "Am I still dreaming? You're in the kitchen again."

 

"Ha-fucking-ha," Bucky says. "Starting the salty talk early this morning, are you?"

 

Steve grins. "Need any help?"

 

"Na, just finishing. Park on the sofa, I'll be there in a minute." Steve nods and takes himself to the sofa. Babushka follows him, and he spends the remainder of Bucky's breakfast prep time telling her she's a very pretty cat, and stroking her ears back.

 

"Keep that up and her head'll get big," Bucky mutters under his breath as he juggles plates, "she already doesn't want you to treat her any differently than you would the Queen."

 

"She _is_ a queen," Steve responds from the sofa, and it takes Bucky a moment to grasp the significance. He pauses midway through pouring some coffee, and turns around.

 

"You heard me. I wasn't even speaking loud," Bucky states.

 

Steve gives him a little smile. "Eardrums all good. No more talking about me under your breath anymore."

 

Bucky picks up two mugs and walks into the living room, placing them on the coffee table. "Well that takes the fun out of _everything_ ," he says with fake annoyance, stealing a swift kiss before going back to retrieve the rest of breakfast.

 

Or it _would_ be a swift kiss, if Steve didn't catch him by the shoulders and make it longer. Babushka mewls, upset at losing Steve's attention.

 

Bucky sets out plates onto the coffee table in a deliberate fashion, and he and Steve enjoy breakfast and watch Cartoon Network. It's relaxing, until Steve goes for the bacon.

 

He stretches out, fingertips not quite making the plate.

 

"Can't... reach... bacon," he grunts, looking at Bucky helplessly.

 

"Oh Steve, honey, I can't understand you," Bucky says in commiseration as he chews on his own strip of bacon. "Sam didn't say the blast affected your speech, too."

 

Steve glares at him and reaches out again, just missing. "Pass me the bacon, Bucky, or so help me, God, I will get up and get it myself."

 

Bucky arches one eyebrow and points at Steve's crutches, laying down beside _his_ side of the couch. "You move your patriotic ass off that couch without a crutch and so help _me_ , God, I will end you."

 

Steve narrows his eyes, and Bucky can see him calculating. It's times like this he remembers Steve is a brilliant tactician, and he starts to worry. Instead of reaching for either the bacon or the crutches, Steve crowds in on Bucky, looming over him.

 

"End me in your Ranger panties, and we'll talk," he says, voice dipping into a gravelly register.

 

"First of all," Bucky says as Steve's lips graze his mouth, smeared in bacon grease, "they're Ranger _shorts--_ "

 

Steve interrupts him with a series of lingering kisses, which continue until he moves awkwardly and his cast catches on the edge of the sofa. His unexpected hiss of pain into Bucky's mouth kind of spoils the moment.

 

Bucky pushes him gently away, helping to rearrange Steve into a sitting position, and depositing the plate of bacon in his lap. "Stupid sexy Steve," he mutters in disgust.

 

"I understood that reference," Steve sing-songs, using a fork to stab at the crispy bacon.

 

After breakfast, with the knowledge that Steve's eardrums have healed, Bucky turns his attention to the blond's hands, unravelling the slightly soiled bandages.

 

True to Steve's word, whilst still injured, they are a damned sight better than even yesterday. New pink layers of skin stretch across his palms, with the blisters having all but disappeared. Bucky runs a careful finger close to the injury and Steve's fingers twitch, though it seems more a ticklish reaction than a painful one.

 

"How do they feel?" he asks quietly.

 

"Itchy," Steve murmurs, flexing his fingers.

 

"Joints?"

 

"Dull ache, not as sore."

 

Bucky murmurs in approval. "I'll dress them again, but this might be the last time. Until that skin is fully healed, however, you should probably keep them in a sterile environment."

 

"I await my nurse's pleasure," Steve answers. Bucky grins and shakes his head a little. His attitude is a marked return to a happier and healthier Steve, in Bucky's limited experience.

 

Even if he is use this new upswing to sass Bucky incessantly.

 

Bucky reaches to the side of the coffee table where the first aid kit was stowed yesterday, muttering under his breath, knowing full well Steve can make out _every_ single word. He throws in some really good swears for effect.

 

"I didn't know that was a cuss word nowadays, Buck," Steve says with surprise.

 

"I aim to amaze," Bucky says dryly, wrapping Steve's right hand carefully. "What's your usual rate of healing, anyway?"

 

Steve shrugs. "It varies dependant on the injury? Cuts and bruises go the fastest, then sprains. Minor breaks and fractures take longer, major bone-breaks and organs the most time."

 

Bucky sits back on his haunches. "Cuts heal the quickest? That's a shame."

 

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Odd statement. Why?"

 

"I may've wanted to put some very special band aids on you, but if you're going to heal so _fast_ \--"

 

"I still have cuts," Steve butts in quickly, and it's all Bucky can do not to start laughing at the huge dork. Steve pulls down the collar of his shirt. The nasty bruise with a cut at the centre of it from his collarbone yesterday, while fading to an ugly yellow, is still there.

 

Bucky smiles slower than molasses. "Okay. You wait there." He unfurls from the sofa and stacks their plates up to take away, partly to be tidy, partly to build anticipation. Dishes in the sink, Bucky heads into the spare bedroom and grabs the little blue box he bought yesterday.

 

Steve is waiting impatiently when Bucky comes back, hands folded in front of him. "You should probably take your shirt off," Bucky suggests. Oddly enough, that very scenario had Bucky hacking up a lung yesterday. Today, he can deal with it. Provided Steve keeps the rest of his clothes on.

 

He's far from a prude, they're just not there yet. The operative word here being 'yet'.

 

Steve pulls his tee off from the back, straight off his head. Unable to turn properly to face Bucky properly with his cast, Bucky makes the decision to brace himself over Steve's lap, straddling his thighs. Bucky makes sure to rest his weight at the far end, closer to Steve's knees.

 

Exhaling sharply, Steve looks up at him with his own brand of shy anticipation, resting his hands gently on the sides of Bucky's thighs. "The injury inspection isn't over yet, Nurse Barnes says so," Bucky announces, and Steve's eyes glitter at the 'nurse' comment.

 

This is gonna be good.

 

He proceeds to run his fingers through Steve's hair, even though there's no injuries there. It causes Steve's eyes to flutter shut. From there, his hands gently make their way to Steve's face. While there's still a little bruising, all cuts seem to have at least sealed. He gently peels the now unneeded butterfly bandage from Steve's brow.

 

Finally, he gets to the abrasions still littering Steve's torso. There are still some there, enough to warrant a few of his band aids. Grinning, Bucky opens the packet and chooses one.

 

Before he has the chance to put the band aid on, Steve stops the progress of his hands. "Aren't you supposed to kiss it better, first?" Steve asks, and his tone drips with innocence.

 

Bucky arches one brow. Without tearing his eyes away from Steve, he kisses his index and middle finger, before pressing both digits deliberately to the skin of Steve's collarbone. Steve chuckles huskily, and Bucky sticks the band aid in place.

 

He continues the kiss-and-stick method over the worst scrapes left on Steve's torso. Bucky doesn't want Steve catching a glimpse of the band aids before he's finished, but that doesn't seem to be a problem, as Steve's eyes never leave Bucky's face.

 

Once he's deposited no less than five band aids around Steve's torso and arms, Bucky dusts his hands off and sits back. "You gonna check them out, or what?" Bucky prompts encouragingly.

 

Steve finally takes the opportunity to look down, and makes an incredulous noise. Bucky starts laughing and he won't stop.

 

A band aid with a cartoon version of Hulk is stuck to his arm. Black Widow is high up on his rib cage, Hawkeye on the side of his pectoral. And on the collar bone...

 

"... Is that Tony?" Steve asks, and Bucky doubles over.

 

Steve pushes Bucky off his lap, who falls to the side on the cushions, still laughing.

 

"Too bad you don't have scrapes... on your ass... he'd be perfect there..." Bucky bites out through laughing wheezes.

 

"Why do you say that, wiseguy?" Steve asks as he pulls his t-shirt back on.

 

"He's always on it, isn't he?" Bucky queries.

 

Bucky gets Steve's first eyeroll of the day. He's quite proud of that.

 

The morning continues in relaxing fashion. Bucky does the dishes and pulls out his files in preparation for the group he's taking out in the afternoon. Steve retrieves the book from his nightstand and does some reading. There are long stretches where neither of them speak to one another, the quiet is companionable and they find themselves orbiting the same space.

 

After having spent a fair bit of time on his own, Bucky is objectively surprised it takes so little effort to be around someone else and not feel claustrophobic. Steve doesn't make any demands on him, doesn't interrupt while Bucky's working. Bucky feels _comfortable_ being in Steve's apartment, almost like he'd feel in his own.

 

Working intensely with people as he does, Bucky values his alone time as well. He gets a happy feeling in the quiet. He still has that feeling, even though Steve's in the room, too.

 

Mid-morning they come together again to have a drink and a snack, and something occurs to Bucky that he really should mention.

 

"Hey, about last night," he begins, and instantly has Steve's attention. "I'm sorry I crashed out on your bed, I left it a little too late to go to the spare room."

 

Steve cradles his coffee cup in his hands. "It wasn't a problem at all, Buck," he responds, before dropping his eyes. "In actual fact, you helped me out."

 

"Oh?" Bucky pushes himself up off the lounge in interest. "Howso?"

 

"Well, I told you how the healing process is uncomfortable, right?" Bucky nods, and Steve continues. "There were a few times I woke up last night with my foot hurting or hands aching. Usually I can't get back to sleep, but seeing you there distracted me. Sometimes I touched the back of your hand, or Bushka moved closer... and I had something-- some _one_ else to focus on." He shrugs. "I was able to get back to sleep."

 

Bucky stifles a smile at the news. It's pretty cool to know that he can help Steve even if he's not actively doing anything.

 

"I'm guessing I don't get any extra pay if I'm working even while asleep?" Bucky queries with a smirk.

 

"A case could be made for over-time," Steve says gravely, "provided you're available for another shift or two?"

 

Bucky cocks his head to the side seriously, a small line forming between his brows. "You want me to stay again tonight?"

 

"If it's not impacting your schedule, or you don't have anywhere else to be." He shuffles towards Bucky on the couch and takes one hand in his own. "I know Sam told you I'm a terrible patient, and I _am_ ordinarily. I can never find enough distractions to let my body relax and heal... but your company here is welcome without being intrusive, I'm resting a lot, and I like having you around." Steve gives him a little grin. "Plus your cat is really cute."

 

"And here I was thinking you were about to say I'm a fantastic kisser," Bucky snarks, not quite unable to hide his pleasure at Steve's words.

 

"There's that, too," Steve murmurs, leaning forward so Bucky can prove the statement. "So what do you say?" he asks, nuzzling against Bucky's cheek.

 

Bucky presses a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth. "Lucky I brought more clothes just in case."

 

***

 

Steve's mood takes a definitive upswing after Bucky agrees to stay on, even though it was never really down. When Bucky is ready to leave for his kids in the early afternoon, Babushka starts to circle his legs.

 

He bends down to talk to her. "It's okay, Bushka. You keep Steve company and I'll be back soon." Scooping her up, Bucky deposits her in Steve's lap and bends down to give him a kiss. "Should be back around five or so. Might pick up something for dinner while I'm out."

 

"Sound good," Steve responds, cradling Babushka in his lap. "Take my spare key again? It'll make it easier."

 

Bucky gives a little grin. "Good idea." He ruffles Steve's hair. "Look after my best girl for me!"

 

Steve grins at him, and that's the last thing that Bucky sees before he slips through the door.

 

His group is one with some of his more interactive and fun young people. Not all of the kids he works with have major issues; some just need a bit of an escape from home and school to do something different, have a peer group to socialise with outside of that, have an adult to talk about things to that isn't necessarily a parent or a teacher.

 

Sometimes, some of his groups are just for fun.

 

But before the fun, he stops in at the office. Denise is there, doing some filing. When he walks in, she brightens and pulls him into a hug immediately.

 

"How are you doing, Bucky?" she asks sincerely, studying his face. Probably part of the trouble of working with a group of people specifically trained to read body language, it's hard to conceal things. Thankfully, however, Bucky has nothing to conceal.

 

"I'm a lot better, thanks," he gives her a little smile, her hand a squeeze.

 

"I wasn't sure if you were going to take your group today, but figured you'd have called if you weren't going to show up."

 

"Yeah, I'm ready. Just left some paperwork here I should take--" To Steve's place "--home."

 

He knows Denise heard his slight hesitation. She raises one eyebrow. "You not at home right now?"

 

Denise can sniff out a lie at thirty paces. On the flip side, Bucky is _very_ good at lying, when it suits him. Trouble is, he doesn't _want_ to lie to her.

 

"Not right now?" he says, squeezing the back of his neck. "Friend of mine got injured, needs a little help while he's recuperating. You know, changing bandages, cooking, that sort of thing."

 

"Cooking? _You?_ Must be some friend."

 

"I'm going to start getting really shitty at the low opinion all my friends have of my food-making capability," Bucky snarks.

 

"Oh, I know you can _do_ it, otherwise you wouldn't be alive. I just figured you'd prefer to... you know... do _anything else_ rather than that."

 

"With that ability to read people," Bucky starts, deliberately playing up the awe, "you should be some kind of therapist, or counsellor, or something."

 

One thing about Denise Bucky likes so much, is that she takes exactly _zero_ forms of bullshit. She slaps his arm. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

 

"I'm _totally_ as funny as I think I am," Bucky grins back. "But getting back to the subject at hand--"

 

"Your cooking?" Denise queries.

 

"--My not being at home, _Dee_ ," he corrects pointedly. "I'm wondering how far my personal days right now are stretching?"

 

Denise raises an eyebrow. "You need more time to look after your friend?" Bucky nods, and his co-worker looks at him over her glasses. "He in the army, too?"

 

"He served, yeah," Bucky says, because it's not a lie. "Look, I've got all my files up to date, and I can still do my group sessions, I'm just wondering if I can beg off doing the office grind for another day or two?"

 

He knows Steve's healing well, and much faster than a regular person, but it'd be nice to have that bit of a buffer just in case he's needed.

 

Denise stays silent for a moment. "You've been pulling far longer hours than normal with the shut-down of the other district facility, and you went above and beyond for the O'Neal boy the other week..." She smiles, and Bucky gives her a hopeful eyebrow raise in return. "I think we can manage for a few more days without you."

 

Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thanks a lot, Dee. This is why you're my favourite." He gives her a hug, and she squeezes his ribs so hard they hurt.

 

"You give me a call if your situation changes, and I'll expect your email responses during business hours still. If you've got the time, maybe you can get a head start on your Fall/Winter program? Don't need to be in the office for that."

 

"No problem." He chucks his thumb towards the door. "I'd better head off, I don't want to be late."

 

"Tragedy. Have fun!"

 

Bucky heads out of the office with a spring in his step.

 

His group are meeting at the local park. Bucky finds a space on the street, and gets the soccer ball out of his trunk, as well as four brightly-coloured cones to act as the goal posts.

 

Most of his charges are already there, with Felicia's mom having stayed around until Bucky arrived. Bucky does a quick headcount, and finds his numbers are uneven because Dion is away visiting his sick grandma. It means Bucky will have to join one of the teams so nobody gets left out.

 

Both teams fight for Bucky, but he's got news for them; soccer's not actually one of his chosen sports. He's probably not going to be much benefit to the team that gets lumped with him.

 

It doesn't really matter, however, because it's _fun_ , and that's the whole point. Sondra accidentally trips him at one stage, and you never quite know embarrassment until fifteen teenagers are laughing at you with your face in the dirt. It's a good thing that Bucky's quite adept at laughing at himself.

 

In the break, they sit in a rough circle and have a drink and something to eat. Felicia's mom left them with a cooler of cookies and fruit. Predictably, all the cookies go first, and Bucky's stuck with a banana.

 

"Mmm, potassium," he says as he eats it, making Jean snort cola through his nose.

 

Around four-thirty, various convoys of vehicles arrive with parents to pick up their kids. Those who don't get picked up are walking home, as they don't live far. There's a flurry of goodbyes, and a hug from Roberto, who, despite having a rough week, laughed a lot during the match. Bucky ruffles his hair and pats him on the back, promising to see him next week.

 

It's a good afternoon. The session leaves him energised, and the idea that he's going to spend a bit more time with Steve is even better. He stops off on the way back to Steve's apartment to pick up schwarma for them for dinner, feeling one big stint in the kitchen each day is more than enough.

 

The elevator just doesn't seem to ever want to take him up to Steve's floor fast enough, but it does eventually get him there. Bucky juggles his satchel and the food, digging out Steve's apartment key. He opens the door slowly, knowing sometimes his cat is a sneaky shit that likes to wait by doors to bolt out of them.

 

He finds Steve at his easel working furiously, crutches resting against the window. He appears to be devoting his energy to watching Babushka on the floor, rolling around with one of her tiny balls with bells in it. The sound of the door shutting, however, makes both man and cat look up. Steve gives him a beaming smile, Babushka meows and goes back to her ball.

 

"At least someone in this apartment is happy to see me," Bucky grumbles good-naturedly, dropping the food on the bench, and his satchel on the coat hook by the door.

 

"Have an eventful afternoon?" Steve asks, gesturing to Bucky's shirt. There's a grass stain on the front, and when Bucky runs his hands through his hair, he pulls out some twigs.

 

"Something like that," he smiles back. "I brought schwarma." He wanders further into the living room. "What have you been up to?"

 

"Just some character studies," Steve says, sitting back from the butcher's paper clamped to a large board. He beckons Bucky over, leaning back into him as Bucky moves to stand behind Steve, chin resting on his shoulder.

 

Bucky looks at his work and whistles appreciatively. He squeezes the blond's biceps "Steve, this is... wow."

 

Covering the page are character sketches of Babushka. He captures her personality perfectly in whatever pose she happens to be doing; lounging on the back of the sofa, chewing her paws, stalking a piece of string across the carpet... They're cute and funny and so very _her_.

 

They're also so very _Steve._

 

"They've kept me occupied a lot during the afternoon. She sure as hell knows how to keep herself amused."

 

"I have chewed curtains that will attest to that fact," Bucky confirms. "Wanna eat?"

 

"Always," Steve says, grabbing his crutches.

 

Steve and Bucky eat their dinner while Bucky tells him stories of how spectacularly crappy he is at soccer. Steve informs him that Sam called to check on his well-being while Bucky was out.

 

When they're done with food, Bucky excuses himself to have a shower. Changing into comfortable clothes for the night, Bucky finally notices Steve's not wearing the same clothes he had on last night.

 

"I took myself to the bath while you were out," he says, showing Bucky his unbandaged hands. That pink new skin that had stood out so much in relief this morning, has faded and nearly blended into the skin around it now. Bucky examines both palms carefully, running one finger experimentally across the new flesh. Steve doesn't even flinch. "Speedy Gonzales," he murmurs in appreciation.

 

Saturday draws to a close sometime after reruns of _I Love Lucy_. They retreat to Steve's bedroom to hang out once again. Bucky chooses a movie to watch on the StarkPad and holds it, Steve alternately draws in a sketchbook and strokes Babushka, who lies between them.

 

When Bucky's eyes start to droop, he makes a clumsy move to relocate to the spare room again, but Steve stops him.

 

"If I wake up uncomfortable again..." he lets the phrase dangle, running one hand over the back of Bucky's. Bucky's reminded of what Steve said about resting more efficiently with him right there.

 

Bucky nods once. He's agreeable to any course of action where he a) makes Steve comfortable, and b) gets to sleep. "Okay," he says around a large yawn, "but if we've decided on this in advance, perhaps we can at least get under the covers this time? We're not heathens, Steve."

 

Steve gives a surprised laugh. "Deal," he says.

 

Bucky ends up falling asleep with his back to Steve to the sound of a pencil scratching on paper and the Starkpad, knuckles gently and rhythmically stroking his spine through his tee.

 

 

**_The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 3)_ **

****

**_(Location: Steve's Apartment / Brooklyn café)_ **

****

Sunday dawns with Bucky waking alone in Steve's bed, sheet tangled around his legs, the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment, and a noticeable absence of a certain face-loving kitten.

 

He woke up a few times during the night when Steve was restless, but they both seemed to fall back asleep fairly quickly with a murmured word and a few reassuring touches.

 

Bucky stretches out and scratches his ribcage. Steve's probably feeling better again to be up already, more like his usual wake-up time. But unfortunately, his usual wake-up time is _Too Fucking Early O'Clock_ according to Bucky. One glance at the bedside lcd confirms this. Offering a muffled curse, he rolls over to mash his face into the pillow for a little longer.

 

He perseveres until the smell of coffee becomes entirely too alluring.

 

Bucky shuffles out of the bedroom, yawning and scrubbing a hand through his hair. Steve's in the kitchen, crutches leaning against the counter as he waits by the machine.

 

He looks up when Bucky enters, smiling. "Coffee?"

 

"Giver of life," Bucky croaks, making grabby hands.

 

As soon as the coffee finishes percolating, Steve hands him a mug. Silence is observed as each of them take the first sip of the day. As the caffeine begins making its way through his system, Bucky's thoughts sharpen and turn towards the day.

 

He decides Steve's been cooped up for long enough, and that they should head out for breakfast. Steve agrees wholeheartedly.

 

After raiding Steve's wardrobe to find pants he can wear that aren't sweat pants, Bucky throws on some jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. He's glad he's got his car, because there's no way he's putting Steve on a subway with his bung foot. As it is, Steve has to push the passenger seat right back so he can stretch his legs out nicely.

 

Bucky drives them to a nice little breakfast nook they've walked past a few times, where Steve postulates that the only reason Bucky suggested they go out is that he didn't want to cook again.

 

Bucky sweetly tells him to 'Cram it, wise-ass'.

 

Breakfast is nice. It's good to be out and about together once again. The staff at the cafe recognise Steve but do their best to be cool about it, and give him extra hash browns. There's a point where another patron tries to take a sneaky photo of Steve from another booth, because Steve forgot his hat and sunglasses, but Bucky stares them down so hard they end up chickening out.

 

As they finish up, nearly the whole staff from the cafe assemble next to Steve and Bucky's table, the owner clearing his throat. They ask if they can have a photo with Steve to put up on Facebook.

 

Steve hesitates for a moment, and while he doesn't drop the polite smile he's wearing, there's something in the pull of the skin around his mouth, and a flicker in his eyes, that tells Bucky something vastly different. It must be unfair to get put on the spot like this all the time.

 

"Can you give us a second?" Bucky asks the group as Steve opens his mouth, presumably to say 'yes'. The employees mumble and shuffle and back away a conservative distance.

 

Steve looks at him quizzically. "What's up?"

 

"Do you mind having your photo taken with them?" Bucky asks, leaning forward in his seat and dropping his voice a little. "Because it's okay to say 'no'. You don't actually owe them anything."

 

A little crease appears on Steve's brow, and he pauses before he answers. "It's not the photo I mind so much," Steve says, "it's just where it goes that concerns me more."

 

Bucky nods. He is _also_ eminently aware of how social media works. But he knows that Steve doesn't want to disappoint by denying them. Maybe Bucky can teach him something about setting terms for himself.

 

"Got it. I can handle this."

 

"Bucky--" Steve starts.

 

"Steve, let me be the bad guy for you. And by 'bad', I mean 'less good than you'. I have an idea."

 

Steve sits back silently. "Okay," he says, after a moment.

 

Bucky turns and gestures to the staff, who all shuffle over quickly.

 

"You guys can all have a photo together, but if it goes up on Facebook, he's not going to come back," Bucky states.

 

"What?" The boss -- Martin, his namebadge says -- asks, confused, looking towards Steve. "Was the food not good?"

 

"It's wonderful," Steve assures, "and I really like the service and the atmosphere here, too."

 

"Which would change _significantly_ if people realise that Captain Rogers has come here," Bucky finishes.

 

Martin looks a little puzzled, but soon catches up. "You don't want to be bothered while you're out...?" He says slowly, and some of his staff murmur with realisation.

 

Steve nods and hitches one shoulder up, giving that 'aww shucks' All American boy routine a go, and it plays perfectly.

 

"It's great that you want a photo with him," Bucky interjects, and subsequently draws all the attention to himself, "and just the photo would be fine to display here somewhere. But if you put it on social media where anyone can see it, superfans and photographers _will_ come and look for him here, and that nice atmosphere's gonna change pretty quick."

 

Bucky can see the cogs turn in Martin's head. "So you're not saying we _can't_ put it up," he clarifies.

 

"Nope. Hell, I'll even take it for you. But you'd best shake his hand and say farewell now, if you're gonna."

 

"What are you, his agent or something?" Martin asks wryly.

 

With a perfectly straight face, Bucky answers gravely. "I have a vested interest in Captain Rogers not getting harassed when he goes out for something as simple as a meal."

 

Their waitress, a young woman by the name of Penelope, speaks up. "I don't care about it not going on Facebook," she says, "I'd much rather Captain Rogers comes back here if he likes it."

 

That seems to be the general consensus from the staff. The boss takes it all in, before agreeing. "What you're asking isn't unreasonable. I'd be honoured to have you frequent my establishment in peace if you like it here."

 

Steve's answering smile makes some of the staffs' knees go a little weak. "Well all right, then," Bucky replies cheerfully, slipping out of the booth and commandeering someone's phone. "You're gonna have to crowd around, he's not standing for this photo."

 

Just to be stubborn, Steve _does_ , and is propped up under the arms by some of the staff. "I can stand," he says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

Everyone grins huge, and Bucky takes a few photos. In true New York fashion, they're ignored by the other early morning patrons. Nobody seems to care about some guy with a busted foot getting photos with a bunch of kitchen staff and waiters.

 

Steve signs some autographs on napkins and menus afterwards, and shakes a few hands. When it's all done, he slips back into the booth, opposite a grinning Bucky.

 

"You were just kind of a badass then," Steve says admiringly.

 

"I'm used to giving people options and then acting like it was their idea when they choose the one I want."

 

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Steve smirks.

 

When it's time to pay, Bucky tells him to sit and heads to the register, where the owner is currently stationed. He flips open his wallet and starts to count bills out. "Just so you know," Bucky says conversationally, "I'll be watching your Facebook page. If you have a change of heart and put it up, I'll find out."

 

The man scrutinises Bucky warily. "You're not his PR agent, are you?"

 

"Nope."

 

"You Secret Service? Marine? SHIELD?"

 

"US Army," Bucky replies firmly, handing over money.

 

"Oh." The boss chews on his lip. "It won't go up, I promise." He pauses. "We'd like to thank you both for your service."

 

Bucky nods, and leaves a generous tip in the tip jar. Steve has seen that something nice is left for Penelope.

 

"Come on, Steve," Bucky says as he hands Steve his crutches. "Let's get outta here."

 

Steve isn't quite ready to go home just yet, so they end up finding one of the cinemas that has the big recliners to put your feet up in. With Bucky buying breakfast, Steve buys copious treats, and they pick a movie at random to watch.

 

It's really nice to do something super normal and date-like. Mindful that Steve's not wearing anything that conceals his identity, they have an unspoken agreement to keep public displays of affection down to a minimum, though Steve does take his hand in the darkness of the theatre.

 

After the movie, Bucky insists on taking Steve home to rest after a suitably eventful morning. To catch up on his work, Bucky spends the afternoon working on his Fall and Winter programs, while Steve draws in his sketchbook.

 

Bucky watches Steve draw out of the corner of his eye, and has a few ideas. He scribbles down some notes, to return to them at a later date.

 

Later on in the evening, when he's lying next to Steve on his bed, he catches Steve looking at him.

 

"What? Do I have toothpaste on my face?" Bucky asks.

 

"Nope," Steve smiles sleepily. "Just thinking. You were my nurse and PR man and bodyguard all rolled into one today. Is there anything you can't do?"

 

Bucky slides down so he's directly opposite Steve on the pillow. "I can't ride a unicycle," he offers around a yawn.

 

Steve's still chuckling as he nods off.

 

***

 

Monday dawns with Steve hopping -- literally -- out of bed early and Bucky cursing his name. It seems even Babushka doesn't care for Steve's early morning routine, choosing to curl up in the small of Bucky's back until he's finally ready to stir much later.

 

After coffee and breakfast and Steve spending a bit of time at his easel, Bucky decides to see how well he can remember how to make pirozhkis.

 

That's when the shit hits the fan.

 

Steve's sitting on the stool at the kitchen bench, chatting as Bucky folds pastry from his second batch -- the first being nearly done in the oven -- when there's a fierce thumping at his front door. Bucky looks immediately to Steve, who frowns.

 

"Expecting anyone violent?" Bucky asks in a whisper.

 

Steve shrugs. "HYDRA don't usually knock, so..."

 

"Rogers! If you don't answer this door in ten seconds, I'm breaking your lock." A firm female voice sounds through the wood.

 

Steve's face shows recognition, but not necessarily relief. "It's Natasha," he supplies, almost concerned.

 

"Wanna pretend you're not here?" Bucky jokes.

 

Steve shrugs, but the unmistakeable sound of a lock being picked draws both of their attention.

 

"Shit," Bucky mutters.

 

The door swings open and the Black Widow storms into Steve's apartment. For all her blowing in like a whirlwind, she makes sure to shut the door quietly behind her.

 

She makes eye contact with both Steve and Bucky before quickly casing the place.

 

"What are you doing here?" she asks Steve bluntly.

 

"I live here. Hi, Nat," Steve says with a little smile.

 

"Don't 'Hi, Nat' me. What's that still doing on your foot?" She points to the cast.

 

"Some medical professionals are saying now that's how you treat broken ankles," Bucky says sardonically. Almost immediately, he wishes he hadn't, because the Widow's piercing gaze affixes to him.

 

She stays silent for a moment. "You're the coffee date," she announces with confidence.

 

"You're the Black Widow," Bucky replies, holding his ground.

 

Bucky's scrutinised again, and it's scathing. She then promptly ignores him, turning back to Steve. "I was expecting you back at HQ yesterday, but nobody had seen you since you entered the country again."

 

"I talked to Sam on Saturday. And I'm taking a few extra days," Steve says, chin jutting out.

 

Even Bucky can tell Steve's not quite on the up-and-up. If he can tell, she _certainly_ can.

 

"That's very unlike you, Rogers. You should've been at the hospital first thing yesterday getting the plaster removed."

 

Bucky can't believe what he's hearing. To him, it's pretty obvious. "Lady, he's got a broken ankle, not a stubbed toe. He kind of needs that."

 

All of a sudden, Bucky doesn't like the way the Widow is smirking at him. "Really." She throws her thumb towards Steve, who seems to be curving in on himself in the stool. Bucky blinks slowly at his posture. "Do you know how fast this one can heal broken bones?"

 

Bucky's jaw works, and he thinks back to when he asked Steve the question. "He said they take the longest to heal," Bucky responds, though his voice isn't as confident as it was a few moments ago. His eyes flick to Steve, who is staring at the redhead.

 

"Mhm. 'Longest'. Very vague." She flicks her hand dismissively in his direction, before turning to Steve. "Your last bad break took about sixty hours to heal, right?"

 

"Maybe? I don't remember," Steve mutters, "But this break was worse." Bucky still arches his eyebrows incredulously.

 

Bucky places a pirozhki onto the baking paper, wipes his hands off on a dishtowel and folds his arms. "So we're, what, ninety-six hours into your recovery?"

 

The Widow somehow disappears from his peripheral vision, because all Bucky is focused on is Steve. "I'm not certain I'm healed? But... probably, yeah."

 

Bucky tightens his jaw. On the one hand, Steve clearly wasn't into full-disclosure about his healing, and that's not cool. On the other hand, he's not a doctor and if the cast is still on, how is he to know whether it's healed or not?

 

Plus, they've gotten to spend some real quality time together over the last four days, and Bucky's felt it has been an important time in the development of their new relationship.

 

Steve looks towards the Widow. "Can you give us a minute, please?"

 

She shrugs and heads further into Steve's apartment.

 

Steve exhales, fingers interlaced in his lap. "I'm sorry I was vague on the healing time. I knew I was feeling better, but... Sam's always telling me that I'm never taking enough time to rest after I'm injured. And when you came over to help and stayed..." he sighs. "It felt so normal. I love spending time with you. I wasn't quite ready to let go of that just yet."

 

Bucky finds it really incredibly difficult to be mad at Steve for just wanting to be normal, and spend time with him.

 

They've talked a little about Geneva in the last few days. From what Steve has told him, it was as mentally exhausting as it was physically. Perhaps the extra healing time was moreso for that than anything else.

 

If anyone understands sometimes just putting your foot down and needing a mental heath day, it's Bucky.

 

He rubs his stubbled face and sighs. "For the record? You coulda come clean and _still_ spent time with me. I wouldn't've been such an asshole about your crutches."

 

"I kind of _liked_ when you were an asshole about the crutches," Steve grins, and Bucky shakes his head.

 

He walks around the bench to stand next to Steve, snagging the pinky of one hand with his fingers. "Anyone ever told you you're a glutton for punishment?"

 

"All the time," Steve responds.

 

Bucky runs a thumb across Steve's knuckles. "So you can really get the cast off?"

 

"Probably."

 

"We should probably look at doing that, then."

 

Their conversation is interrupted by the reappearance of the Widow.

 

"Who is this?" she asks, cradling Babushka in her arms. For her part, Babushka bats playfully at her fingers.

 

"A traitor," Bucky deadpans.

 

"That's Bucky's kitten, Babushka," Steve says, taking her out of the redhead's arms when she comes close enough.

 

She watches Steve coo at the little calico with a wary expression. "Cute name," she offers, and falls silent.

 

The oven timer goes off and Bucky spins around. He grabs the dishtowel and uses it to remove a tray of finished pirozhkis from the oven. Widow's eyes go wide when she catches sight of them. She stars at Bucky. "Are they what I think they are?"

 

Bucky looks down at them with a frown. "Depends. They're meant to be pirozhkis, but I don't know if I remembered them right." He sighs. "I really don't care for baking."

 

The Widow creeps closer to the bench and reaches out for the tray, giving Bucky a questioning glance. Bucky makes a 'go ahead' gesture with his hand. "They're hot," he warns.

 

She picks one up, tossing it from one hand to another, blowing on the little pastry as she does, before taking a bite off the edge. It's still hot to chew, and Bucky can tell, but she swallows anyway.

 

There's something that changes in her eyes, then. He doesn't know how the green can go from icy to thawed, but there you go.

 

"< _They are very traditional >,_" she murmurs, and it takes Bucky a few moments for his brain to catch up to the fact that she spoke in Russian. His Russian is incredibly rusty, but it's there.

 

"< _Thank you, lady >,_" he replies in turn, and the Widow's gaze snaps to him once again.

 

Steve watches their back and forth with fascination.

 

"You speak Russian," she asks, though it comes out more as a statement.

 

"Just conversational stuff," Bucky says. "The woman who taught me to make these also taught me a bit of Russian, too."

 

"Huh," she says, chewing on the rest of the pirozhki. Something in the stiff way she's been carrying herself in the apartment relaxes then. Bucky tentatively chalks that up to being a good thing.

 

"Nat," Steve begins, "I'm sorry I haven't been in, but I wasn't officially scheduled for anything for the next few days anyway."

 

"It's never stopped you before," she responds. "We're normally forcibly giving you time off."

 

Steve sits up straighter in his chair. "This time, you didn't have to."

 

Widow glances at Bucky before giving Steve a tiny Mona Lisa-esque smile. "I see."

 

Bucky finds a paper towel and wraps up a few of the pirozhkis as the redhead exchanges a few more words with Steve. When she turns to face him, he holds out the pastries.

 

She takes them slowly, as though she wouldn't be surprised if they exploded.

 

Sizing Bucky up once again with her eyes, she holds out her right hand. "Natasha Romanov," she says.

 

Bucky takes her hand with the same care she took the pirozhkis; as though it might explode. "James Barnes."

 

"I know," she gives him a ghost of a smile. "< _Your baking is better than your accent >_," she remarks.

 

"Rude, but okay," Bucky responds, surprising a little laugh out of Natasha.

 

She turns to Steve. "Well, I'll get going. I'm assuming you're in good hands to get to the hospital for the removal of your cast later today?"

 

"The best," Steve responds, and Bucky successfully stifles a grin.

 

"That is, if you're not too busy playing with kittens." Natasha looks into Steve's arms and strokes the soft fur between Babushka's ears. She purrs at the attention.

 

With a final farewell, Natasha heads towards the door. Once she goes, Bucky thinks he can start breathing again.

 

She reaches the door, hand on the knob and everything, but doesn't go. Instead, she turns around and points to Steve. Specifically, points to the band aid still stuck on him.

 

Her voice enters a very specific register of amusement. "Is that _my face_ on your arm, Rogers?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Bucky still hates getting up early.
> 
> * If you remember from the first chapter of FtF, Bucky's profile said he spoke conversational Russian.   
> Bucky grew up with a little old Russian lady as a neighbour. Sometimes when both the Barnes parents were working, Bucky would take his sisters over to her apartment. She was lonely and loved the company. And of course would make lots of food. Bucky helped her because she had trouble bending over to put things in the oven, and his sisters were too small to be in the kitchen and do that kind of thing. She taught him stuff, it just sat in the back of his brain dormant for a lot of time :) 
> 
> * Pirozhkis are delicious. 
> 
> * Feedback is also delicious <3


	8. Dating (week 9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Relationship Status  
> * The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again... Thank you once again stucky fandom for your amazing comments and kudos. You guys rock so hard! Sorry this one took a little longer to get out, I was working on this at the same time as I've been slogging away with something else...
> 
> I know everyone likes the fluff, but if you want something a little less sugary and a bit more intense, and if you enjoyed my other Meet-Ugly [P.O.W.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6395947), you might like to check out [Cause & Effect](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7283149). I'm alternating working on FtF and that, but there should be more of that very soon. 
> 
> But enough of that business! Once again, this is not possible without my bestie Sarah. She is, forever and away, a most kind and thorough beta. A thousand thank yous, you amazing woman xo

**The One With The Relationship Status**

**(Location: Brooklyn bar)**

 

 

Bucky's decompressing after another big week of work out and about with some friends. Denise is there with her husband, Doug, and also Jarrod from his current office. But there are two extra people who make the get-together especially nice: Wendy and George. Wendy used to work with them in Brooklyn, but ended up transferring to a sister outreach up in the Bronx. George moved to the west coast and is back for a week visiting family. It's a little meet-up of their original team, and up until this point Bucky forgets how much he missed this particular mix of people.

 

They're the ones who first welcomed him back to gainful employment as a civilian, who didn't mind he could only work a few days a week, and not even full ones at that, while he was getting used to daily life without sand and Kevlar and automatic weapons.

 

These are the people -- along with his family -- who helped him feel like a man again, instead of just a soldier. They are very important to him, and never fail to make him smile. It's not often now that they all get the chance to catch up together, so they're making the most of their time.

 

Dinner at a nice restaurant was relaxing and so much fun they weren't quite ready to call it quits afterwards. So now they've hit a little bar for some drinks. Doug and George are having an intense side-conversation about real estate in Brooklyn, while Wendy regales the rest of them with the comedy of errors that was her boyfriend trying to surprise her with a birthday party last month.

 

Bucky grins at the story, and he can't help but think of Steve. _His_ boyfriend.

 

It shouldn't still feel like a novelty, but it does. In the very best of ways.

 

Bucky hasn't gotten the chance to see Steve much since he got the cast off earlier in the week and they both went back to work -- Steve to the Tower, Bucky back to his office. They have, however, still been in constant contact.

 

And after the worry of the Geneva Incident with the intense caregiving period, it's nice to take a step back into his own space and be take time for himself, too. He had a crappy moment on Wednesday, but a call to Benjamin put him at ease, and he righted himself pretty quickly, all things considered.

 

Steve asked if Bucky wanted to go out tonight, but Bucky made an apology and explained the significance of the get-together tonight for him. Steve, ever the gentleman, was completely understanding and texted 'can I write you tomorrow?' He says it just to be ironic now, as more often than not, his texts end with 'I _will_ call you tomorrow'. Like it's a promise -- or a threat.

 

The thing of it is, even if the gathering hadn't been an entirely significant one, he's pretty sure Steve would've been just as gracious.

 

Bucky _wants_ to have a life outside his boyfriend's sphere of influence, and what's more, Steve _wants_ him to have that, too. He doesn't horn in on every scrap of free time Steve has, either.

 

The feeling of independence is important to both of them, apparently.

 

Unexpectedly, a beer is placed in front of Bucky without him ordering it. Bucky sits back in surprise and looks up at the waiter. "I didn't order this." It's especially strange as he's been alternating between water and Coke all night.

 

The waiter gives a little grin and points out a pair of women sitting at a table not far away. One is decidedly more pink with embarrassment than the other and very determinedly not looking in Bucky's direction. "It's from over there."

 

A collective --but thankfully soft -- 'oooohh' goes up from Bucky's table and he wants to sink into the floorboards a little.

 

Jarrod pokes Bucky in the arm. "Still got it, Barnes," he says wistfully. "This never happens to me when I go out."

 

"That's because you dress like a hobo," Wendy puts in, and the table erupts in laughter.

 

Bucky looks at the beer and back to the girls, thinking fast. He doesn't want to send it back because that kind of rejection is really cruel, and it takes guts to be the brave one first up. However, he also knows if he accepts, he's giving the wrong impression about interest he is definitely not feeling.

 

It's a tightrope, but he thinks he knows what to do.

 

Bucky stands and dusts off his jeans. Picking up the beer, he tries not to make too much eye contact around the table. "I'll be back," he tells them firmly.

 

"Don't rush!" George says with a grin. The chorus of 'ooooohh' is a little louder when he walks to the table with the girls.

 

There is a flurry of heated whispering between the two women as he approaches, to drop into silence when he gets to the table. Bucky gives them a little smile. "Do I have you to thank for the drink?"

 

"Jennifer bought it for you," the less-embarrassed-looking blonde says immediately, shoving her brunette friend in the arm. Bucky looks her over. She's quite attractive, with medium length brown hair and brown eyes, long lashes and a creamy olive tone to her skin.

 

"You can sit if you want...?" Jennifer says, making eye contact with Bucky.

 

Bucky slides into the chair and puts his drink on the table. "Thanks for the beer," he says sincerely, tapping the glass. "I know this is sort of an awkward topic, but I wanted to let you know that I'm already seeing someone, if it's not too presumptuous to assume you bought it for me to get my number." He keeps his tone gentle. It's his work-voice, and he's glad that his current and former co-workers can't hear it, because they know it all too well.

 

Both women flag significantly at the knowledge, and Bucky does feel a little bad, but the truth is better than false hope. "But I'm really flattered by the drink, and don't want you to be out of pocket. Can I return the favour anyway?" He looks between the two women. "To you both?"

 

The blonde looks to her friend, who shrugs before nodding. "Why not," Jennifer says with a shrug, "I'll break even that way."

 

Bucky gives her a friendly smile and gestures for the waiter. He lets the girls order, and sips at the beer, waiting for the drinks to arrive. He's not overly fond of the taste of it, but he is known to have the very occasional alcoholic beverage.

 

They chat in the meantime. Jennifer works at a doctor's office, and her friend, Elyse, as a PA at a law firm. Jennifer is sweet, and once she gets over her nerves talking to Bucky and starts to relax, he converses with her very pleasantly.

 

Once the drinks arrive, Bucky chats for a few more minutes, before he makes to excuse himself.

 

Before he goes, Jennifer and Elyse both thank him for being so upfront and polite about his situation. Jennifer scribbles her number down on a cocktail napkin and gives it to him.

 

"I fully appreciate what you've said. But you seem really nice, and if you ever find yourself single again, maybe we could have dinner?"

 

Bucky takes the napkin and pockets it because it would be rude not to, but knows better than to actually confirm any kind of action on his part.

 

He _might_ find himself single again, but he really doesn't want to be considering that prospect right now. Bucky knows he and Steve haven't been together long, and they might not stay together, but thinking of an end point right this second is a bit of a downer.

 

Also, he's not about to verbally make any indication that he will call this woman. Hope like that tends to screw up a person. Best to be honest.

 

Instead, he smiles and bids them farewell, walking back to his friends with a half-empty beer glass.

 

None of them hide the fact that they've been unabashedly watching him this entire time.

 

"And just _what_ do you think you're doing back so soon?" Denise asks disapprovingly.

 

"I'm here to spend time with you guys, not pick up," Bucky says matter of factly.

 

"Bucky, we love you, but that's stupid. If you wanted to spend more time with those, frankly, _hot_ women, nobody would mind," Wendy says.

 

"Except for me, because I'd probably ask you if her friend's single, and do you wanna double-date," Jarrod puts in.

 

"I am not doubling with you, Jarrod. Not until you stop wearing frayed denim cut offs." Bucky toys with his glass before picking it up. He pauses, and on the spur of the moment, decides to share with his friends. "Besides, I'm uh, seeing someone." Bucky gets the sentence out and swallows the last of his beer before the surprised gasps hit.

 

Sure enough, he's belted in the face, both barrels, with a flurry of questions from everyone, including the normally reticent Doug. He winces at the onslaught.

 

"Who are you dating?"

 

"How long has this been going on?"

 

"Is she-- I mean, are they hot?"

 

"How did you meet?"

 

"Why didn't you say so?"

 

Bucky holds his hands and the barrage slows to a halt. "It's pretty new. The opportunity to mention didn't really come up beforehand... so..."

 

"How new is 'new'?" Jarrod asks.

 

Bucky shrugs. "Couple of months, give or take?" The Greek chorus of voices starts up again, only to die down when Bucky blocks his ears with his fingers at the commotion. Once they've settled down, Bucky unblocks his ears. "Can we ask questions like adults now?"

 

"Okay... is this someone you just met, or someone you've known for a while?" Jarrod presses.

 

"I've known him for about..." Bucky counts backwards quickly, "maybe four months?"

 

The excited murmur changes tone with the extra information. He can see their faces burning with curiosity. These are people who care about him, who want happiness and good things to happen to him. And Bucky, in turn, wants to share his happiness with them.

 

But only to a point.

 

He leans forward at the table, and everyone automatically does the same. "I know you're not going to let me off the hook, so here's the deal," Bucky says, "next person to buy me a beer--" he winces and amends his words "--a better-tasting beer than that one, gets to ask the questions. However, the interrogation will last only as long as it takes me to _drink_ said beer, and I can refuse to answer if it's too personal."

 

There's a flurry of activity and arguing, but ultimately Wendy comes out on top. She crows triumph and orders some kind of weird, hipster microbrew. He'll take her word for it, he knows shit-all about them. Bucky barely drinks on a regular day, but tonight is a special occasion, and he's a responsible adult, surrounded by friends he trusts.

 

There's nothing scarier than an interrogation by psyche majors, but Bucky can handle himself. He knows his body and his tells extremely well, and he's also comfortable enough with these people to tell them to get lost if they go somewhere he doesn't like. But he's reasonably sure it's not going to come to that.

 

Wendy, as it turns out, is a benevolent interrogator.

 

"I prefer the term 'interview', thank you," she corrects primly.

 

He knows her well -- Hell, contemplated asking her out once upon a time -- and she asks questions that Bucky can choose to expound upon if he likes. Also some left-of-centre stuff that's designed to startle answers out of him. Mostly it just makes him laugh.

 

"I'm wise to your tricks, Wendy. I have a psyche degree too, y'know."

 

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

 

Bucky gives them decent tidbits. He doesn't lie about anything, only omits details of a private or identity-confirming nature.

 

According to Bucky, his boyfriend is former Army now working for the government. They met on Tinder, and didn't actually meet in person for nearly two months. He keeps really fit, but he's not a gymbro-- despite Bucky mistaking him for one at the beginning. He initially comes across as sweet, but he's got a sarcastic streak a mile wide, and a wicked sense of humour. He's also a massive dork. As each tidbit of information is revealed, his friends smile and nod in approval. Bucky tries not to give too much away in his body language.

 

Jarrod demands to know if Bucky's mystery man is hotter than him.

 

"Yes, he is. Next question? I'm almost out of beer," Bucky threatens good-naturedly. He feels a warmth to his cheeks, perhaps coming from the fact he's been drinking it a little fast to shorten the question time.

 

Wendy asks if she can see a picture, and Bucky thinks on it. He shows them one of the very early pictures Steve sent to him from his early-morning runs. The group whistles at the long, muscular legs in sweats. George makes a joke of fanning himself. "Wow, I think I'm a little turned on."

 

Bucky grins and shrugs. He's got one mouthful of beer left. "Last one, friends. Make it good."

 

"Oh!" Wendy exclaims. "I didn't even think to ask... What's his name?"

 

Bucky blinks slowly, the smile on his face soft and happy. "Steve," he answers.

 

Denise's eyes light up. "Steve," she repeats. Bucky gives her a long look, quirking his brows. Denise doesn't say anything else, merely smiles and leans into her husband.

 

This is why Denise is his favourite.

 

Bucky drains the last of his beer and sets the glass on the table. "And the buzzer has sounded. The Q & A portion of the evening has ended."

 

A chorus of disappointment meets Bucky. "Cry more," he jeers, "your tears and recrimination only make me stronger and more powerful."

 

"Well, it's been very enlightening, but I'm rather disappointed you resorted to telling us in person the old-fashioned way. I get most of my news from Facebook," Jarrod remarks.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You know I don't use Facebook very much."

 

"Facebook-official, or it didn't really happen," Wendy intones, and Jarrod hi-fives her.

 

"Come on, that's not even a real thing."

 

"It's on _Urban Dictionary_ ," Doug contributes.

 

" _Et tu,_ Doug?" Bucky asks. "Why does anyone give a shit whether I'm single or not?"

 

"I'll admit, that there's a certain voyeuristic curiosity that comes with it," George starts, "and you'll always get the people who don't know you very well just being nosey. And you'll get your asshole friends -- and we all have a few -- making stupid comments. But you also get to let in your good friends and family on what's going on in your life, and they get to be happy for you."

 

"But there's always lots of problems if there's a breakup," Denise reminds, "because suddenly everyone on your feed knows. The algorithms don't allow you to filter that information. I can understand why people don't do it, it can be really intrusive and potentially damaging if you go through a traumatic breakup."

 

Bucky points to Denise. "Yes. That one. That's the bit I don't like."

 

"What does Steve think?" Wendy asks. "Maybe he's secretly pining about not being listed as your boyfie."

 

"I can't help but notice I have run out of beer, and you're still asking questions..." Bucky says, and George places his untouched glass in front of Bucky. Bucky looks at the new glass and feels a little dizzy. The fact that he rarely drinks is making what he _has_ go straight to his head. He thanks George, but pushes the bottle away. Two is more than enough.

 

Denise wordlessly fills an empty glass with water and he gratefully takes that instead.

 

Denise. Still favourite.

 

"I'll give you a freebie and answer, just because I like you," Bucky says. "I highly doubt it. Steve actually hates Facebook passionately." He plays with a damp coaster, ripping the soggy edges off. "Doesn't even have an account."

 

There is a collective gasp from the table. "I think I'm gonna faint," Jarrod says.

 

"I ain't giving you CPR," Bucky tells him. "It's to do with his job. For security reasons he doesn't show his face in pictures where he can be identified. Also? He _really_ hates how intrusive it is, and how people just feel the need to talk about _everything_ they happen to be doing on it."

 

"That's good old Face-Stalk for you," Jarrod says. "My go-to platform when I want to find out when Rory last visited Walgreens for antacid."

 

They all burst out laughing after that, and the subject of Steve and Bucky and Facebook is dropped. It does, however, start a rollicking debate on social media and how it influences people's lives.

 

The rest of the evening is pleasant, filled with lots of laughs. When it's inching towards midnight, their conversation slowly starts drawing to a natural close. Jarrod wants to hit another nightspot, but he's summarily booed by his friends.

 

Bucky says his goodbyes to everyone with copious hugs and handshakes, and splits a cab with Denise and Doug. He's got a little bit of a headache from the beer, and doesn't feel like taking the subway.

 

But tomorrow is Saturday, and because one of the schools is having their annual carnival, the group has been postponed so all students can attend.

 

This means he has a Saturday _free._ Bliss.

 

Bucky and Denise keep chatting while the cab makes its way to Bucky's place first. Doug sits in the front seat and talks to the driver, because... that's what Doug does.

 

Denise pokes Bucky in the deltoid. "So... correct me if I'm wrong... but I spoke to Steve on the phone, right? The night of my anniversary?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky confirms, "that was him."

 

"He has a great voice," she says with a little smile.

 

Bucky chews on his bottom lip. "He does at that."

 

"So polite, though. I honestly thought he might've stopped himself from calling me 'ma'am'."

 

Bucky barks out a laugh. "That's... that definitely sounds like him. But then you get to know him and it's all stealing my cat's affections and ragging on my cooking."

 

He realises what he's said the moment it's out of his mouth -- stupid beer making him feel fuzzy -- and there's no chance that Denise didn't make the connection. It's so rare that Bucky cooks, it's an easy leap for someone like her to make.

 

Bucky stops offering information and sits quietly. He wonders if Denise will be annoyed at him for omitting that information.

 

"He that army buddy of yours that was laid up last week?" she queries.

 

"Yeah," Bucky admits. "Workplace injury, but he's all good now."

 

There's another pause, in which Bucky chews on his lower lip.

 

Eventually, Denise begins talking. "Since it's probably _highly_ classified--" she starts.

 

"Level eighty-nine clearance required," Bucky informs her, tapping the side of his nose.

 

"--I'm going to imagine that he did himself this injury by slamming a photocopier lid on his hand, or being stabbed by a ballpoint pen."

 

Bucky laughs. "I'll have to tell him you said that."

 

Anyone else he didn't know as well might've made some sort of crack about playing hooky off work to visit the boyfriend for a dirty weekend, or other such nonsense -- and as much Bucky likes Jarrod, he'd _definitely_ do that -- but Denise knows him better than that.

 

There's some very compelling reasons as to why Dee is his favourite work-human.

 

Bucky finds it's nice to be able to talk about Steve to someone else, and have his friend be happy for him.

 

The cab arrives at Bucky's apartment and he gets out. He passes some money to the driver as Denise sticks her head out of the window. "Well, this character _must_ be okay if Babushka likes him." She pauses. "Maybe sometime when you're ready, I could meet him."

 

Bucky smiles softly and kisses Denise on the cheek. "Sounds like a plan."

 

He bids farewell to Doug, and heads inside.

 

Babushka is sleeping on her cat bed when he lets himself in, but soon gets up to circle around Bucky's legs as he enters the apartment.

 

Bucky is suddenly exhausted. Big week plus being social is hard. He's not a twenty-year-old idiot anymore.

 

Stripping off, Bucky does the bare minimum he needs to get ready for bed. His brain starts functioning on autopilot as he goes through his night-time routine. One of the last things he does is to pull up Facebook on his phone and really wonder what all the fuss is about.

 

Sometime after that, Bucky flicks a quick message to Steve, saying he's home and will call tomorrow, and passes out in an exhausted lump facedown on his pillow.

 

 

 

**The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 4)**

**(Location: Bucky's apartment)**

Bucky wakes up with a furry mouth and a furry face. "Bushka, no," he groans, pushing the kitten off his chest. He looks across to the clock, which is showing a little after ten a.m.

 

He stretches out and runs lazy hands through his hair. The taste in his mouth is pretty foul, and Bucky is reminded of one of reasons as to why he doesn't normally drink.

 

Bucky spends ten blissful minutes just lying in bed, slowly working himself awake before eventually rolling over and reaching for his phone.

 

Facebook has exploded with notifications. Bucky raises an eyebrow, and wonders if perhaps Wendy's uploaded and tagged him in some photos they took last night, and everyone's commenting on them.

 

"Stupid Facebook," he mutters, and decides to open the app to check out the damage.

 

It's worse than he thinks.

 

Yes, there are a few photos up, but the majority of the notifications seem to be coming from a post. Bucky taps the notification to read the text in question. He's still kind of sleepy, and so doesn't understand why he's seeing all sorts of congratulations and people asking questions, until he scrolls back up to the top.

 

"Oh, _seriously,_ " Bucky says, eyes growing wide.

 

Apparently, his 1am, slightly dizzy and overtired self took to Facebook.

 

 **James Barnes  
** 9 hrs

 

_Not going to change my relationship status or anything, because it's stupid. But I'm dating a really great guy and I'm happy. Consider yourself duly informed._

 

 

"Holy shit," Bucky breathes, rubbing his eyes. Nope, the status is still there.

 

As are the multitude of comments. He scans them briefly. They are a pretty usual mix of smartassery from his friends, congratulations, and people wanting to know who the lucky guy is.

 

 _As if I'm gonna answer anything_ , Bucky thinks. He pulls up the status to delete it, but hesitates. He sits on the 'are you sure you want to delete this post?' screen for a long while. Sure, it was a fucking dumb thing to do, but the fact of it is, he's not adverse to having people know he's taken, and the well wishes from his friends are nice.

 

In the end, he changes the privacy setting to just him, with a view to perhaps delete later. He also takes a screen shot of the post from his phone and sends it to Steve. Because Steve deserves to know Bucky's been an idiot.

 

_Bucky: So I may've done something kind of stupid while incredibly overtired and under the influence of my friends. [attached image]_

 

While he's in his messages, it occurs to Bucky he's got at least six unread messages between two of his three sisters.

 

Oh, shit.

 

_Becca: Bucky wtf???? When did you get a boyfriend? Why do I have to find out through facebook?_

_Becca: you need to text me with photos and details immediately._

_Becca: BUCKY WAKE UP. I COMMAND YOU._

_Becca: That's it, I'm on my way over. You were warned._

_Abi: Becca texted me that you have a boyfriend. I'm shocked and disgusted to find out from her. I thought I was your favourite._

_Abi: Also congratulations, big brother :)_

Bucky throws his phone to the side and begins a long and guttural sentence of inventive curse words. The unique situation he finds himself in with Steve has mucked up the natural order in which he'd normally break the news to his nearest and dearest.

 

Bucky sighs. This is not how he pictured his morning going.

 

His phone starts ringing and Bucky flicks it a pensive glance, checking the caller ID. It's Steve.

 

Bucky pauses for a microsecond before he connects the call. "Hey, Steve," he says cheerfully, "I'm an idiot."

 

"Sometimes," Steve confirms with amusement. "So I'm a 'great guy', huh?"

 

"If you were really a great guy, you wouldn't have agreed so quickly that I was an idiot."

 

"I don't lie, Bucky," Steve says in his Captain America tone of voice.

 

"You embellish the shit outta stuff, though," Bucky counters. "Like when you told me about the time you punched a tank during WWII."

 

The line goes very quiet. "I uh... _did_ punch a tank," he says softly.

 

Bucky rolls over to lie face down on his bed, mashing it against the mattress. "I think we should properly revisit the definition of 'idiot', and which one of us is one," Bucky says, voice muffled by his bed.

 

Steve chuckles. "Not my finest moment, but I got the tank to stop, at least."

 

Bucky shifts his face to the side so he's no longer muffled, and taps the button that puts the phone on speaker. He chuckles, but the laugh devolves into a deep, world-weary sigh.

 

"I'm gathering you had a good night with your friends, anyway?" Steve queries.

 

Bucky gives a little smile. "Yeah, nice catching up and lots of laughs. Food was great, I had a couple of drinks but stopped when they made me feel a little shitty. Caught a cab home."

 

"Nice," Steve says, and he sounds a little wistful. "Anything interesting happen?"

 

Bucky rolls onto his back, drumming his fingers on his stomach. "Hmmm... Jarrod laughed so hard at one of Wendy's stories he nearly choked on a peanut?"

 

Steve's warm chuckle down the phone makes Bucky smile. "Nice," he repeats.

 

"Oh, and a girl tried to pick me up by buying me a beer. I didn't want to embarrass her by rejecting, so I bought her a drink in return, and told her I was taken. That's sort of what started the boyfriend talk with my friends, which has led to social media regret." He pauses. "It goes without saying that the Facebook thing was an accident, and I didn't mean to type it. If it makes any difference, I've hidden the post now."

 

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Bucky's about to ask Steve if he's still there -- maybe the line dropped out -- when he speaks. "When you say you didn't mean it, do you mean the sentiment, or the posting?"

 

Steve's question is quite carefully worded, and Bucky takes a moment to muddle out what he's being asked. Ohhh.

 

"I meant the _sentiment_ \-- you make me very happy -- I just didn't mean to broadcast it to my friends and family via social media at 1am. Also, I know how you feel about Facebook."

 

Steve pauses before he answers, and when he does, Bucky can _hear_ the sunshine grin in his voice. "Well, that's good. And it's okay, it's not like you mentioned me by name or anything."

 

"Still, I didn't mean to announce it quite like that," Bucky apologises. "And speaking of family, I'm fielding angry texts from my sisters about not knowing about you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Steve says.

 

"It's no big deal. I think Becks is just mad I haven't mentioned anything about you to her."

 

"Would you normally have by this stage?" he queries.

 

Bucky rubs one eye tiredly. "Yeah... me and my sisters have a good relationship. We usually share this stuff. One-off dates, not so much, but anything remotely consistent and we usually share. So I can go overprotective brother on them, or they can hassle me about 'not forgetting the romance' or some shit."

 

Steve is silent once again on the other end of the phone for a few moments. He knows everything they've been doing so far has kept their relationship low-key. Not 'dirty little secret' low-key, more 'away from harsh scrutiny'. As much as he loves his family, scrutiny is something they excel at, especially when it involves Bucky or his sisters.

 

"Steve?" Bucky asks. "It's... it's okay. I can deflect them for a while longer, even though they are all masters of guilt and harassment. I blame myself; I taught them too well."

 

"The thing of it is..." Steve starts hesitantly, "if you would ordinarily be talking about me to them... I _want_ you to. I want us to be normal, you know? That includes being introduced to your family at _some_ stage. That is, if. If you wanted me to meet them."

 

Bucky spends Steve's stuttering sentence allowing a smile to grow exponentially on his face. "Are you kidding, of _course_ I want to talk about you, and of _course_ I want you to meet them. I just--" he breathes out a jet of air sharply, "They mean well, but they might come on a little strong. I don't want to spook you."

 

"I can safely say I think I can handle it," Steve promises.

 

"I'm just not sure _I_ can," Bucky jokes half-heartedly. "We've not really talked about the privacy issue in explicit terms, but I know not having strangers in our business is important to you." He exhales slowly. "Okay so... family introductions TBA, but let me break the news to them before a first meeting. I don't want Abi posting about you on Twitter before I have time to mention about discretion."

 

"Sounds like a plan," Steve says.

 

Bucky's doorbell rings, and he levers himself off the bed with a groan. "Someone's at my door, is it you?" he asks as he flicks his legs off the side of the mattress.

 

"Sadly not! I'm finishing that painting I was telling you about while the light is nice."

 

"Damn, I'd better put on some pants, then."

 

"... You wearing Ranger panties again?"

 

" _Shorts_ , they're sh-- ah, forget it." Bucky keeps the phone in the crook of his shoulder as he pulls some sweats on. "We still on for later?"

 

"Mhm!" Steve answers cheerfully. "Don't indecently expose anyone!

 

"Bye, you incredible dweeb," Bucky says, before hanging up the phone. He heads out to his living room, Babushka circling at his feet as he checks the peephole.

 

"Shit," he mutters, before unlocking the deadbolt and turning the key to open the door. "I thought you were kidding!"

 

Rebecca Barnes-Proctor is outside his door, her nine-month old daughter Isobel tucked in under her chin. "Bucky, you got some 'splainin' to do," she tells him before entering his apartment.  


"Come in, Rebecca, lovely to see you," he says sarcastically.

 

"I'm going to need coffee and for you to take Isobel for a minute," she says, thrusting the little blonde girl at him before disappearing into the bathroom.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes and looks down at the baby in his arms. "Hi, Izzy, how are you?" he asks softly, and receives some excitable baby gibberish in return. "That's what I thought."

 

He puts her over his shoulder and walks into the kitchen. The coffee maker starts up and he finds a packet of rusk sticks in his pantry. "You still teething, cutie? Doesn't even matter if you aren't, rusks are _awesome_ , aren't they?"

 

Isobel certainly agrees, because she starts making grabby hands for them as soon as she spies the packet.

 

Rebecca comes out of the bathroom and heads straight to the kitchen. "Coffee?" she asks.

 

"Percolating," Bucky replies, gently bouncing Isobel.

 

"I'll finish it, you go sit down and think up a decent excuse as to why you didn't tell me anything."

 

Bucky sighs deeply and trudges to the sofa. He loves his family, he loves his sisters especially, but that doesn't mean they don't sometimes drive him up the goddamn wall. Closeness sometimes breeds incredible invasiveness.

 

He gently shoos Babushka away from the sofa, who stalks off in a huff. "I just did you a favour, Bushka," Bucky says as he sits down. Isobel isn't that happy at not being able to grab the kitten and nearly drops her rusk in an attempt anyway. Isobel looks on the verge of tears that the kitten has escaped her grasp, but Bucky bundles her up and starts bouncing her on his knee.

 

Rebecca enters the living room with two mugs, and places one on the coffee table. "There's cat hair on the sofa. It's not good for Isobel," she says.

 

"I love Isobel, but she doesn't live here. Babushka does. If I'd had more warning, maybe I could've gotten the lint brush out," Bucky replies. He tries to keep the pissiness out of his voice, but Bucky won't have his younger sister turn up with very little warning and tell him what to do in his own apartment.

 

Rebecca gives him a scathing look like she might snap back, but then backs down. "So, tell me about the guy you're dating," she says evenly, changing the subject in lieu of an apology.

 

"What do you want to know?" Bucky asks, helping Isobel with her rusk.

 

" _Anything_ at this point," she fires back. "What's his name? How old is he? What does he do? Where did you meet? How long have you known him? How long have you been dating?"

 

Bucky exhales slowly. "His name is Steve. He's thirty-one, and works for the government."

 

"What, like a public servant? Or the FBI or something?"

 

"Yeah, the second one."

 

"Huh," Rebecca says, taking a sip of her coffee. "Secret stuff?"

 

"A lot of what he does is classified," Bucky hedges, "he doesn't talk about it a lot."

 

"Bucky..." Rebecca gets that annoying warning tone, "How do you know he's not just making it up? Where did you meet him, anyway?"

 

"Tinder," Bucky responds to a further groan.

 

"Buck! I thought you got off that!"

 

"Well, I'm off it _now_ ," Bucky snaps back.

 

"I reiterate -- how do you know he's telling the truth? People lie through their teeth on that all the time, and most people only use it for hook-ups."

 

"That's a pretty big generalisation. _I_ wasn't using it for hook-ups."

 

"Ah, but you _did_ sometimes just hook up with people on it, right?"

 

Bucky is silent for a while before looking down at Isobel. She stares up at him with big, sleepy eyes. "I don't feel comfortable having this conversation in front of Izzy."

 

Rebecca rolls her eyes at him. "Fine. I'm putting her down for a nap on your bed. That okay?"

 

"Of course." Because it doesn't matter how snippy they are at one another, they love each other and he loves Isobel. Rebecca disappears for a couple of minutes and Bucky sips his coffee. He needs his sister to lay off the combative streak, and then he can actually _talk_ to her about Steve.

 

When Rebecca comes back, mostly closing the door behind her so Babushka doesn't go and stir Isobel up, she seems a little calmer.

 

They drink coffee silently for a few moments, a little tension in the air.

 

"So you _did_ use it to hook up sometimes," she continues, and Bucky rolls his eyes. Because of course that's the first thing she comes out with again.

 

"I sometimes got together with people that I never called again, but that was by our mutual agreement at the time, and I never went into a date with the _intention_ of that happening. For fuck's sake, Becca, if I wanted a hook-up I could just walk into a bar; I don't need an app to help me."

 

She pauses for a while, scrutinising him deeply. "So how secret is his job, anyway? Do you get to know anything at all?"

 

Bucky counts it as a win she's dropped the one night stand angle. He could tell her that he and Steve haven't actually... _well_... but Bucky's not going to talk to his little sister about his sex life unless one of them is under threat of death for him to do so. Because gross.

 

"In a way, yes? He gets actively deployed to some pretty serious incidents, but he's got a lot of training and experience, and a really good team." He pauses. "In some ways, it's similar to what I used to do with the Rangers. Remember you would know vaguely what I did but I couldn't give you details."

 

"It sounds like he's in the military."

 

Bucky shrugs. "He used to be an officer in the Army. This isn't Army work, but it is..." he tries to think of the right words, "definitely a tactical position."

 

"It sounds fishy," Rebecca says, screwing up her nose, and Bucky's had enough.

 

"Why are you busting my balls about this so much? I thought you'd be happy for me! You normally are, or at least pretend to be until you meet my partner and make judgments."

 

A flicker of hurt crosses Rebecca's face. "I'm busting your balls because I thought we were _close_ ," she says.

 

"We _are_ close," Bucky argues, "why the hell are you getting upset?"

 

"Because I've never had to find out something so personal about you over the internet first," she says, and Bucky winces.

 

Because, ow.

 

Her shitty attitude and sniping makes so much sense, and Bucky feels bad deep down in the pit of his stomach.

 

He and his sisters _are_ close. Despite the three, five and six year age gaps between him and his siblings, they've always had a warm rapport. Bucky missed them terribly when he was overseas, and they were the best thing about coming home. One of the reasons he finally decided to quit the Army was Rebecca was pregnant with her first child, and he wanted to be there for his baby sister, and his unborn niece or nephew (Turns out it was a nephew: Robert, Isobel's older brother).

 

He didn't want to be 'that man' who showed up every nine months or so for a few weeks to give presents, and who the kids had to be coaxed to give a hug to because they didn't know him.

 

He's always shared with the girls, and they with him. Bucky's worked out many a problem with people he's seeing while having a deep and meaningful chat with Rebecca, or had to play protective big brother and provide tissues and ice cream for his sisters' during break ups. He's given the shovel talk to more than one suitor over the years.

 

And yeah, if it had been anyone else, after the first couple of weeks he probably would've taken Rebecca out to lunch and casually dropped the info about dating someone to her. They would've looked at photos, she would've asked her questions, and that would've been it.

 

It's just this situation is so... _unique_. He's never dated anyone remotely noteworthy before. And Steve really just wants to be _normal_.

 

But... as Rebecca's made a point out of... telling her _is_ normal.

 

Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping, and puts his coffee mug down.

 

"I didn't mean to put that on Facebook, I got home from going out with the work crew -- Wendy and George are in town, by the way -- and it got me thinking about telling people, and..." Bucky shakes his head. "I don't even remember doing it, I was that tired, but I was thinking it was time to share my news."

 

Rebecca is set to look hurt again, but Bucky takes her shoulders in his hands gently. "But you -- you and Abi and Gracie -- you're the _first_ people I ever want to share good stuff with. I was already planning on telling you. Hell, we only really decided on the 'boyfriend' title last week, and we've been dating for about two months.

 

"The Facebook thing came out of two beers and being way overtired. I didn't think you'd appreciate texts at one a.m. telling you I'm happy dating someone."

 

His sister gives him a penetrating look, and while he's an accomplished liar when needs be, Rebecca has become annoyingly adept at sniffing out a rat.

 

Rebecca eventually sighs. "Okay, I believe you. But... why have you waited so long, anyway? Two months is more time than you would normally wait to tell me something like this."

 

Bucky scratches the back of his neck. "I know, I know... I haven't had a proper girlfriend or boyfriend since I left the Army, and I just wanted to wait a bit and feel it out. Also... Steve's job makes it a little hard to share. It even took two months from the time we started talking to the time we met. It can keep him really busy."

 

"Did he ask you not to tell us?" she queries suspiciously.

 

"No! No, nothing like that. Apart from me being an exhausted dick on Facebook last night, I haven't mentioned him to _anyone,_ really. Last night was the first time. I talked to him earlier today, and he wants to meet you in the future. It's just that... Shit," Bucky shifts on the sofa cushion, tapping his closed fist against his lips, "I don't know how to say it without sounding weird and secretive." Bucky stops and takes a breath to collect his thoughts. "His job can be dangerous, and sometimes high profile. I trust you but I needed to make sure you'd be able to be discreet, for his sake."

 

Rebecca pauses for a long moment. "Is he in Special Forces where his face gets blurred out of photographs, or something? How the hell was he on Tinder, then? If you posted a picture of him on Facebook, the terrorists would know where to find him?"  


Bucky snorts out a laugh. "Firstly, he didn't have his face in any of the Tinder pics, I didn't see him properly until I met him in person. And it's a little melodramatic, but in a way, yeah, he has to maintain some privacy."

 

His sister fixes him with a piercing glance. "Are _you_ safe, Bucky?"

 

"Now that's a dumb question to ask a Ranger."

 

"You forever like to remind me you're an _ex_ -Ranger. My question still stands."

 

"Yeah, I'm safe," Bucky promises, reaching out to touch her knee. "And he's one of the best people I've ever met."

 

Rebecca's eyebrows climb. "Really? High praise, seeing as you know me."

 

"I'm so sorry I ever taught you sass," Bucky bemoans, a smile twitching the corner of his lips.

 

Appeased that she hasn't been deliberately shunned from the loop, Rebecca sits back a little. "So... tell me about him. Not what he does, _him_. What's his deal? You got a picture?"

 

Bucky sidesteps the picture query for the moment. "He's tall and really fit, but loves junk food and eats like a horse. He's talented at art -- _so_ talented, Becks -- but he joined the Army when he was young and got deployed." Bucky taps his finger against his lips. "He's addicted to coffee, treats Babushka like a mini-queen, is inherently sarcastic, but never cruel, so dedicated to his job and puts himself on the line for others all the time..."

 

"Stop talking about yourself, you narcissist, and start discussing _Steve_ ," Rebecca smirks, and Bucky pokes her in the arm.

 

"Don't be a brat."

 

"Ex _cuse_ me, I am a twenty-nine year old mother of two--"

 

"--And my little sister, and a goddamn brat," Bucky finishes cheerfully.

 

"Also that," Rebecca admits. "So, to recap, known Steve for four months, dating for two, boyfriends for a week... that about sum it up?"

 

Bucky picks his coffee mug back up. "That's it," he confirms. "He's been away a few times for work in that time, so there have been some gaps."

 

"And how's that going?" Rebecca asks curiously. "I know you'd be exclusive, but is he?"

 

"Yeah he is, and... it's really good," Bucky admits. "We've spent a lot of time just kicking back in each other's company, but also gone out and done the clichéd date thing, too. It's not like we live in each other's pockets, either. I still like my alone time, and he needs it, too. Also, our schedules don't always match up."

 

"How do you go with his job?" she asks gently. "I mean, if what you say is true, and it's dangerous... how are you coping with that? Do you ever find it triggering?"

 

Bucky exhales slowly. "It's not been an issue a whole lot yet. But when I say he's highly skilled, the situations he's dealing with... nobody else is better qualified to deal with it than he is. If he weren't... a lot of people would die, Becks."

 

Babushka appears out of nowhere at Bucky's ankle and he picks her up with one hand. She settles in his lap, keeping one eye open on Rebecca, purring like a little outboard motor.

 

"He's that good, huh?" she asks.

 

"He really is," Bucky responds quietly. "And I'm doing okay. There was a thing recently... he got sent away and ended up getting a little hurt. He's fine now, but I couldn't speak to him at the time and didn't know what had happened. He's since given me a number I can call, and I'm on a special list so I can always get information about him if he's away." Rebecca nods in what Bucky thinks is approval, so he continues.

 

"Plus, I haven't found anything triggering so far. Even if... I still keep in touch with Benjamin, anyway."

 

Rebecca continues to take in the information. "Okay," she says. "Seems like Steve is pretty great. What's his family like?"

 

Bucky's lips pull tight. "He's an only child, and his parents have both passed. No other relatives, so it's just him."

 

Rebecca frowns. "Oh, that sounds lonely."

 

"Yeah, but..." Bucky can't help the smile that blooms on his face. "I swear he's the biggest dork, you'd really like him."

 

"You still haven't shown me a picture," she reminds him. "Is he cute?"

 

Bucky exhales slowly. Now is as good a time as any. "You have no idea how cute he actually _is_ ," Bucky says, reaching for his phone on the coffee table.

 

He pulls up his phone's gallery, and one of the first pictures he comes across is Steve asleep on the sofa with Babushka sitting on him. It's quite ridiculously adorable.

 

"You're nervous," Rebecca observes.

 

"A little," Bucky admits, handing her his phone.

 

She takes it, but doesn't drop her eye contact with Bucky immediately. "So... this Steve have a last name?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky says as Rebecca looks down at the screen. "Rogers."

 

Rebecca half-smiles as she studies the photo. "What, his parents WWII buffs or something? Steve Rogers is--"

 

She snaps her head towards him so quickly, Bucky's afraid she's got whiplash. " _Steve Rogers,_ " Rebecca hisses, eyes wide. She looks back down at the photo and then up at Bucky.

 

"This. This. This is _Captain America_."

 

"Yeah," Bucky says simply. Rebecca's breathing heavily. "You're... you're not gonna hyperventilate or something, are you?"

 

"It's Photoshopped. It has to be. Or you got it off the internet or something."

 

Bucky points down to the kitten in his lap. "It's her, Becca."

 

"But. But that's not your sofa," she reasons. Bucky can see she's really having trouble with this.

 

"It was taken at his place."

 

"How have you been to _Captain America's_ apartment?" she asks.

 

He arches one eyebrow sardonically. "You heard the part about me dating him, right?" Despite the smarmy answer, Bucky understands Rebecca's histrionics. Hell, he had a moment of vertigo the first time he met Steve, too.

 

"Bucky. Bucky." Rebecca starts smacking him on the arm, the smacks getting harder the more she does it. " _Bucky_."

 

Babushka gets upset with Bucky getting jostled and leaps of his lap, hissing. "Please don't upset my cat, Becca. Steve likes her."

 

Rebecca stares at him incredulously. "I'm calling bullshit on this, Bucky. You can't be dating _Captain America._ "

 

Bucky gives a little sigh. "You're right, I'm not." He takes his phone back and flicks a few photos back, showing her again. The picture on screen is Steve stuffing a hot dog in his face in Central park.

 

He swipes again. The next photo is of Steve at his easel, backlit by the window his apartment, looking thoughtful. His left leg with the cast is straight out to the side and Babushka bats at it playfully.

 

He swipes one more time. It's a selfie of Bucky and Steve after the Coney Island date. Bucky is facepalming while Steve is next to him wearing that god-awful cowboy hat, laughing. "I'm not dating Captain America, Becca," he reiterates softly, "I'm dating Steve Rogers."

 

Rebecca stares down at the photo quietly, before looking up at Bucky. He's not sure whether she's about to laugh or burst into tears, or start pummelling him again. "Steve Rogers is your boyfriend?" she asks in a surprisingly small voice.

 

"Apparently he's not put off by my late starts and my binge-watching tv habits."

 

"It's a miracle... oh my _God_ , Bucky." She punches him once again in the arm for good measure, a solid hit. Bucky regrets ever showing her how to punch. It fucking _hurts_.

 

"Becca will you _stop hitting me._ "

 

" _This_ is why you didn't tell me."

 

Bucky rubs his arm. He might even bruise. Stupid strong sister. "Yeah. It wasn't because I didn't want to... it's not like he's a random, y'know? When was the last time you heard anything about Captain America on TV that wasn't related to the Avengers?"

 

"I-- huh. I can't remember," Rebecca says.

 

"That's because he tries to keep his nose out of the press, but it's not easy. We go to a cafe and the wait staff wants to put his photo on Facebook to draw in customers, or people are trying to take sneaky pics of him for Twitter. He's a public figure, but... if our faces are going to be splashed all over social media -- and let's be honest, it's only a matter of time -- I don't want it to be because one of my sisters--"

 

"Abi," Rebecca supplies.

 

"Yeah, Abi... because she posted something which brings a whole lot of media scrutiny down not only on him, but on us, too."

 

"I see," Rebecca says slowly.

 

Bucky sighs again. "I want to do right by the both of you. I _want_ my family to know, but I also don't want to expose this to the press prematurely. Or you, for that matter."

 

"Speak for yourself, I've always fancied appearing on TMZ," she says, brushing her hair dramatically off her shoulder.

 

Bucky grins a little and shakes his head, before it fades to a more serious expression. "You're the first person I've told that it's Steve. Even if you hadn't come barging over here like a crazy person, I _still_ would've told you first."

 

Rebecca's face softens a little. "So Capt-- I mean... _Steve_ wants to meet _me,_ huh?" she gives Bucky a shit-eating grin, and he rolls his eyes heavenwards.

 

"Apparently you're important to me, or some bullshit like that," Bucky replies.

 

Rebecca sits back in the sofa. "We should probably do something that gets Steve meeting everyone at once, so nobody can cry foul that they met him first."

 

"Okay, but wait a second, he said wants to meet but I don't think he meant _straight_ _awa_ \--"

 

"Dinner at Mom and Dad's," Rebecca interrupts as though she doesn't even hear him. "It's perfect."

 

Bucky sighs. It's a lost cause already. "Immediate family only," he amends quickly, and Rebecca nods. "Aunt Joyce has a mouth on her, everyone from Brooklyn to Queens'll know it's Steve if she's invited. And I don't want anyone to get a shock, I'm gonna break the news beforehand."

 

"Is that a good idea? You know Abi is terrible at keeping secrets... It might just be better to confiscate her phone and spring it on her."

 

Bucky rubs his face vigorously for a second. "I-- I don't know. Gimme a chance to make up my mind?" He runs his hands through his hair, giving a tug when he gets to the ends. "Maybe I can just tell them that I'm dating someone well-known so that's why it's been hush-hush, and introduce them at dinner?"

 

"That might work." Rebecca perks up. "Can I be around when you tell Gracie, though? She'll be back from Chicago next week, and is just going to die."

 

"I feel like Gracie only did Modern History in high school so she could moon over pictures of Steve in her text books... am I remembering that right?"

 

"Yes!" Rebecca answers gleefully.

 

Bucky shakes his head. "How could I have forgotten that... she's gonna kill me."

 

"For defiling her teenage crush? Yes, yes she is."

 

"She's going to take back the award for 'Bestest Big Brother' she made for me in the fourth grade, isn't she?"

 

"Yes, yes she is."

 

"Well, shit."

 

Bucky's not really worried. Gracie will get over it, and provided Abi's phone is confiscated before any meeting takes place, photos won't end up on the internet. Rebecca's husband, Nick, is like a brother, and Bobby's too young to know what's going on. Provided Bucky can just prep everybody... it might all turn out okay.

 

The thought that he might get to take his and Steve's relationship to a new place where they can be a couple in front of his family, where he gets to show those he loves that he's pretty damned happy with his life choices so far... he's excited.

 

Nervous as hell, too, but _still_ excited.

 

His family can be hard work, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn't trade them for anyone else's.

 

Quite suddenly, he reaches forward and wraps Rebecca in a hug. "Thanks, Becks. You're the best little sister ever."

 

Rebecca's arms go around him to squeeze him tight, her face pressed against his neck. "I'd be more flattered, save that I know you tell Abi and Gracie the exact same thing."

 

"Can't help it if all my little sisters are the best, can I? Good genes."

 

Rebecca laughs and Bucky lets her go, a little reluctantly. "Promise you'll go easy on him? He's never had siblings, he's in for a rude shock."

 

"I will try... but it might be hard. If nothing else, I have to share embarrassing stories about you from our childhood."

 

"Becca..." Bucky warns.

 

Bucky's phone starts ringing again, and he arches one eyebrow. When he looks at the caller ID, he bites his lip.

 

"It's Mom," he says in a hushed whisper. "Why would she be calling me? She never does at this time of day."

 

Rebecca pauses. "You have Aunt Joyce on Facebook, right?"

 

Bucky looks down at the phone with dawning horror. "Oh, _shit_. I wasn't ready."

 

Rebecca pats him on the shoulder, commiserating. "Get ready, big bro."

 

Bucky winces and connects the call. "Hey, Ma," he says, bracing for impact."

 

"Hello, James, I've just had the most _interesting_ phone call from your father's sister--"

 

Bucky sighs softly, and throws a pillow at Rebecca's laughing face.

 

He hates Facebook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Because I'm always obsessed as to what hairstyle Bucky is sporting in fics (because sebstan has amazing hair.. gah), this is what FtF Bucky looks like:
> 
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> 
> * Sorry this part is a bite Steve-Lite! but he's coming back. And basically his ears were burning the whole timeline of this chapter, anyway :) 
> 
> That's it, really. If you had the time or the inclination to leave kudos/a comment, you can rest assured, I'll forever think you're awesome. For realsies. Thanks, fandom <3


	9. Dating (week 10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Many Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are just so lovely. Thank you sincerely for the kudos and comments, I love reading each and every one of them. And you keep me passionate about this story! I am getting so many ideas for it. SO MUCH AWESOME IS COMING. YES. 
> 
> Once again, without Sarah, I wouldn't be able to get this done. She is the ultimate fixer. Thank you, slammie. <3

**_The One With The Many Firsts_ **

**_(Location: Bucky's Apartment)_ **

 

Bucky only gets to catch up with Steve a couple of times early in the week before Captain America's presence is requested in DC at the Swiss Embassy. For 'exemplary and heroic actions in Geneva, serving the UN and the Swiss people', according to the official paperwork. Bucky can't stop grinning at Steve's vaguely embarrassed face as Steve told him.

 

There will be an official ceremony, where Steve and Sam -- acting as representatives of SHIELD -- will be presented with commendations for the team. Not to mention the charity gala ball, meeting with the Swiss Ambassador to the USA one-on-one, as well as some other international dignitaries whose delegates were saved by the Avengers.

 

Somehow Tony and Natasha manage to be busy enough to avoid the pomp and circumstance, and Steve's ire is quietly hilarious.

 

So Steve and Sam travel to DC to be acclaimed internationally for their courageous efforts, and Bucky stays at home and takes stupid videos of his cat.

 

Oh, and he works.

 

Bucky catches the ceremony highlights and the occasional news report on TV or web article about the various events. He can't help a big grin when he sees Steve and Sam in uniform being presented with awards by the Swiss Ambassador. Sam is absolutely beaming, Steve is wearing his 'serious polite interest' face, and Bucky finds it absolutely hilarious that he knows exactly how to recognise that.

 

Steve also looks incredibly hot in his uniform.

 

The good thing about this particular trip is that while it's mostly work for Steve, it's not a mission. The risk of being shot at is minimal, however, the risk of Steve being driven to extreme boredom by some of the official functions is high, if the texts Bucky gets are anything to go by.

 

_Steve: The Romanian Ambassador is falling asleep during the speeches. His aide is trying to wake him up on the sly._

_Steve: I want to be the Romanian Ambassador._

_Bucky: Fucking rude to be texting under the table, Steve._

_Bucky: Pay attention, there'll be a quiz later._

_Steve: Quill at the ready._

 

Steve gives a brilliant speech, and Bucky's glad Steve isn't there to see how much he grins at the TV, because it's rather embarrassing.

 

The charity gala also gets a bit of play on the networks, but most of Bucky's information about that comes from Steve's firsthand accounts.

 

_Steve: I feel like I should've taken up Pepper on her offer to teach me how to dance._

_Bucky: Shit, Steve. What if you have to dance and seduce the French Ambassador's daughter in the name of World Peace and maintaining healthy international relations?_

_Steve: Then we're all going to Hell in a handbasket._

Bucky does get a text from an unknown number with an attached image. It turns out to be a selfie of Sam, Steve in the background on the dance floor. He's dancing with some dignitary, and even from the tiny image, Bucky can make out the redness of Steve's cheeks.

 

_Bucky: Thank you, Sam-ta, that's all I wanted for Christmas!_

_Sam: He is beauty, he is grace._

_Bucky: He punches Hitler in the face._

A short time later, texts from Steve resume.

 

_Steve: What did he send you. I need to know how badly to ruin his chances with one of the attractive Secret Service Agents._

_Bucky: Quit being paranoid and get your ass back out on that floor._

_Steve: Oh God, he sent you dancing photos?_

_Steve: I am going to devise a suitably embarrassing punishment for him._

_Steve: I wish you were here._

Bucky pauses, shaking his head a little. It takes him a moment to compose his thoughts.

 

_Bucky: I do look pretty dashing in a tux, not gonna lie :)_

_Steve: Of that I have absolutely no doubt._

After the official things, Steve and Sam spend the rest of the week in DC. Sam visits his old VA and some friends he left behind, Steve spends a bit of time at the SHIELD DC headquarters running some training exercises with groups of new agents. They stay in contact via text and phonecalls, and it reminds Bucky a lot of their first weeks getting to know one another.

 

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky's week plods along. He completely finishes his Fall and Winter program schedules and sends them to the office. Technically, whatever he organises is fine, but they have a practice in the office to have at least one other colleague look over it just as personal insurance that nothing's been missed.

 

Of course, Bucky's chosen colleague is Denise.

 

With everything squared away, and his Saturday group session done and dusted, Bucky drives home whistling a peppy tune. Not only is he finished for a couple of days, but Steve's due back from DC sometime today.

 

Bucky's phone chimes, and he opens a text from his mom.

 

_Mom: What does your friend like to eat? I'm thinking of a lamb roast and vegetables, potato bake etc. Would that do?_

_Bucky: Sounds great. And it wouldn't be the worse idea if we had a second roast, or something? He eats a lot :)_

_Mom: Okay, I'll pick up some beef as well. Love you xo_

 

Bucky's also spent a lot of the week messaging back and forth with his sisters -- mostly Rebecca -- and his mom. With Grace coming back from her Chicago trip, he got around to telling the rest of the involved parties about his news, using the words 'well-known person' to describe Steve and the reasons why nothing had been mentioned previously.

 

Bucky is the one to bring the idea of dinner to the rest of his family, which is a good move. Coming from him and not Rebecca, it sounds more pro-active on his part. Meanwhile Rebecca is happy to sit back and not take credit for the idea, so it doesn't sound like Bucky was crow-barred into the meeting.

 

It allays any suspicious feelings about him not sharing prior to this, while upping the curiosity factor. Many guesses had been made as to who Bucky's boyfriend might be; none correct.

 

And provided Steve keeps to schedule and does arrive back from DC today, family dinner is scheduled for early Sunday evening.

 

The low-level butterflies return to his stomach as he thinks about the dinner. Bucky licks his dry lips and does his best to be zen. It's going to happen sooner or later, he'd rather rip it off like a Band-Aid and get it over and done with now.

The parking angels are on Bucky's side, as he gets a spot on the curb only a few doors down from his building. He hasn't heard from Steve in a few hours, which means the man in question is probably on the way back already. Bucky checks his phone. There are no new messages updating him on Steve's ETA, but the last one was a selfie of Steve on the way to the airport, thumbs up. He takes a moment to look at it, and it makes him grin like an idiot.

 

Bucky takes the elevator to his apartment, willing the numbers to speed up. As he unlocks the door, he's thinking about all the things he might be able to get done before Steve contacts him and--

 

The door opens to reveal Steve Rogers sitting on his couch, eating a bowl of cereal.

 

Steve looks up and beams a smile at him, immediately putting the bowl down on Bucky's coffee table.

 

He rises straight away, running his hands absently over jeansclad thighs. "Hey, Buck," Steve greets and a spark of warmth unfurls deep in Bucky's chest.

 

"Hey," Bucky greets, closing the door behind him.

 

Babushka mewls but Bucky's more interested in the way Steve closes the gap between them and folds him up in a huge hug. Bucky hasn't even gotten his messenger bag off his body, but he doesn't even care. Steve's hugs are the _best_. He wraps his arms in kind around the blond's massive shoulders.

 

Bucky rubs his cheek against Steve's, bringing their mouths closer together until they're kissing.

 

It's a great kiss. Really great. Bucky wonders if his body is actually made of memory foam, because it does this ridiculous thing where it _molds_ itself to Steve, and Steve just wraps around him. He rubs Steve's back, but ends up moving his hands to cradle Steve's face. This causes the blond to make little happy noises into Bucky's mouth, which is frankly a huge turn-on.

 

Large hands wrap around his waist and bring them closer together, and Steve steps one foot out slightly so Bucky's thighs slot next to his and they're pressed _very close together_ from lips to knees. One of Bucky's hands slips down to cup the side of Steve's neck as those damned fucking beautiful lips keep pressing at his mouth and--

 

Bucky feels Babushka's claws through his pantleg. He hisses and breaks the kiss, glaring down at her. Large, green eyes look up at him innocently. For all that he loves her, she has succeeded in breaking the very nice moment they were having.

 

"I think she missed you, too," Steve says, hiding a breathless smile in the crook of Bucky's neck.

 

"Yeah, the difference being I saw _her_ four hours ago," Bucky grumbles, breathing a little heavier than normal.

 

Steve presses a feather-light kiss to the juncture of Bucky's neck and shoulder before standing straight again. "I hope you don't mind, I used your key. The flight left earlier than scheduled."

 

"Of course not. You know you can make yourself at home," Bucky says, finding Steve's hands before gently encouraging his boyfriend to let him go. Once free, Bucky puts down his bag and removes his shoes, kicking them to the side.

 

They exchanged apartment keys after Steve got his cast off. Well aware that he hasn't been dating Steve long, it was an interesting decision for them to make. Bucky fully acknowledges that in another relationship he would definitely consider their short acquaintance and dating history to be _far too early_ to exchange keys... but Steve's sort of a special case, and they've made an exception.

 

If you can't trust Captain America not to abuse the privilege, who can you trust?

 

On the flip side, Bucky can only guess at the digging Natasha has done into his record, so he knows should he use the key for anything nefarious, he's bound to be paid a visit by a very scary redhead. Given being out in public is sometimes touch-and-go, the keys seemed to make sense, allowing them to enjoy convenient privacy.

 

Steve takes Bucky's hand and leads him back to the sofa, where they sit together. "Have you been waiting long?" Bucky asks.

 

"Twenty minutes? I came here straight from the tower."

 

"Oh. Sam drop you off?" Bucky folds one leg on the couch cushion underneath his other.

 

"Rode my bike over," Steve says, and Bucky admits to glazing over a little. It certainly explains his boots-jeans-tee-leather jacket ensemble. Bucky has an inherent love for the idea of Steve riding a motorcycle and the subsequent fashion choices it leads to.

 

"Nice. Are you doing anything for the rest of the night?"

 

"Whatever you want to do," Steve replies, making an expansive gesture, and Bucky grins.

 

"Good answer." He rubs his thumb absently over Steve's knuckles. "Well, if you're still on for the family dinner tomorrow--" he looks to Steve, who confirms with a nod, "--maybe we can do something low key and relaxing tonight? Takeout and watching TV or something."

 

Steve exhales happily. "Sounds great."

 

Bucky chews on his lip as he contemplates his next words. Because he knows he wants to spend time with Steve over the next little bit, partly out of necessity. He's going to have to prep Steve a little on his family first, but he's also going to have to not have mild anxiety about his loved ones meeting Steve (and subsequently losing their minds).

 

"So uh, the movies might run late," Bucky starts, and Steve watches him with patient, blue eyes.

 

"They might," he confirms.

 

"If they do. And if you're too tired to go home, you could always crash here. If you felt like it." Bucky arches his eyebrows curiously, unsure of what Steve's response might be.

 

"Sounds excellent," he says. "On the sofa, or...?"

 

"Pffft, sofa. I'll have you know that despite rumours to the contrary I don't hog the covers, I just believe that your side doesn't need them as much as mine does. The mattress gets cold, Steve. Have some compassion."

 

"I will watch for cold mattresses and distribute quilt accordingly," he says. "Also, thank you. I'd love to stay." He leans in and gives Bucky a sweet kiss on the lips, which turns into another series of lingering kisses.

 

Steve eventually breaks the kiss, but doesn't move his mouth away from Bucky's lips. He stays in direct proximity, sensitive skin still touching. Bucky flicks his eyes open for a moment to see that Steve still has his shut.

 

After a moment, Steve nuzzles the side of Bucky's face, making a noise deep in his throat that Bucky reads as happy. "If that's going to happen, do you mind if I duck home and grab a few things? I haven't been there since Monday, and I wanted to come here first."

 

"If you need to," Bucky murmurs back, voice oddly rough. "You know you can borrow stuff from me, though."

 

"I know," Steve responds. "But I should check the place out. Also I'll need clothes to wear to dinner."

 

Bucky kisses Steve again, because damn he's _right there_ , before pushing his shoulders away reluctantly. "Think you'll be long?"

 

Steve drops his chin but doesn't break eye contact with him. The result is an oddly endearing but profoundly suspicious expression. "What?" Bucky asks, raising a brow.

 

"I actually thought... maybe you want to come with me? On my bike."

 

Bucky wets his lips and presses them together. He's never been on a motorcycle before, and has never really had the desire to, either.

 

Until Steve made it look so damned alluring.

 

He squeezes the back of his neck and bites his lip nervously, and Steve frowns. "You don't have to if you don't want to? I just thought it might be fun, and we could spend more time together. We can take your car if you'd prefer, or you can just relax here while I make the trip, I know you only just got home."

 

"Man, if you backpedalled any harder you'd probably reverse the rotation of the Earth," Bucky comments in amusement and Steve pulls a face at him. "Truth is... I'd like to. But I've never driven on a motorbike before."

 

"Technically _I'd_ be the one driving--" Steve begins with a faint smile, and Bucky slaps his shoulder.

 

"Such a fucking punk, you know what I mean" he bites, before becoming a little serious. "Is it safe?"

 

"It's as safe as any mode of transportation," Steve says, which doesn't fill Bucky with a whole lot of confidence, "but trust me when I say I've been riding for a while. I'm pretty good."

 

"Wouldn't I need a helmet or something?"

 

"You can wear mine there. I have a spare at home we can bring back."

 

And what's life without a little risk, he supposes. "Okay," he says. "Take me on your sexy death-trap."

 

"Sexy, huh?" Steve says with a shit-eating grin, rising from the sofa. He holds out a hand to Bucky to help him up.

 

"Shut it," Bucky says, picking up his keys.

 

"Wait, you're not dressed for a bike," Steve says, and Bucky stops.

 

"I can't wear this?" he gestures down to his cargos, t shirt and sneakers, and Steve shakes his head.

 

"You're not surrounded by metal, so you have to wear clothes that are safer." He gestures to Bucky's bedroom. "May I?"

 

Bucky shrugs. "Sure," he says, and Steve disappears into it. Bucky follows at a leisurely pace. "If you pull out the suit I wore for my senior prom, that's pretty safe. Lord knows I didn't get laid in it."

 

He finds Steve rifling through his wardrobe, on a mission. "You're a little bit of an asshole," he says, pushing through the coat hangers of clothes.

 

"I think you'll find you like me anyway," Bucky says with a reasonable amount of confidence.

 

Steve pulls out a pair of heavier jeans, one of Bucky's leather jackets, and after a poke at the bottom of the wardrobe, a pair of leather boots.  


A little crease appears between Bucky's brows. "I know it's starting to cool down a bit, but isn't that going to be a little hot?"

 

"It will be warm," Steve admits, "but just in case something happens, you need to be protected."

 

Bucky looks at Steve's outfit, and realises Steve has picked out something incredibly similar to what he's currently wearing. Well, that makes him feel a _little_ better. "Okay, expert," he says. "I'll get changed."

 

Steve grins and kisses him on the cheek as he leaves the bedroom to allow Bucky privacy to change. It is a little warm to get into the thicker clothes, but it's still not as uncomfortable as wearing ninety pounds of body armour and weapons in the middle of summer in the desert; he thinks he'll be okay.

 

When he steps out of his bedroom, he finds Steve hanging out by the door, absently brushing some dust from his helmet.

 

"If I don't look hot, I'm not going," Bucky says, drawing Steve's attention.

 

The blond looks up, and Bucky nearly cracks at the way Steve's eyes widen with pleasure, then carefully look him up and down. He walks over to Bucky slowly and takes the zip of the jacket, which is currently only fastened at the bottom. He very deliberately pulls it up, sealing the jacket to the base of Bucky's throat.

 

He then bridges the gap between them and kisses Bucky soundly on the mouth.

 

If Steve doesn't stop kissing him like this, he's not going to want to go _anywhere_.

 

Steve's hands travel, one to cup his jaw, the other around his waist. "Definitely not your prom suit," he says, and Bucky's insides get lit on fire. Bucky lays one hand over the top of the one Steve has spread over his cheek, then turns and kisses Steve's slightly rough palm. Steve hitches a little breath as he does so.

 

"We should probably get moving," Bucky croaks, shifting his legs so he's not pressed entirely against Steve. Because Steve's tone is not in any way conducive to getting anything done ever.

 

Steve gives him the gentlest peck on the lips and passes him the helmet. Bucky makes sure Babushka doesn't try and sneak out while they leave, and they head down to Steve's bike.

 

Apparently neighbours haven't complained about the old but incredibly well-reconditioned cruiser that occasionally gets stowed in the alley a few doors up from Bucky.

 

Steve flips up the kickstand and turns it around to wheel it out onto the curb. Bucky stands and looks at the vehicle with a frown.

 

How the fucking hell is he meant to balance on this thing?

 

Not being shy, he asks Steve that in those exact terms.

 

Steve gives him a little smile, and pops out two little pegs on either side of the back wheels. "These are your footpegs, you rest your feet on there. The easiest way to get on is to lift your right leg up and over and slide onto the seat, then put your feet up." Steve demonstrates. "When you get off you do the same thing, just in reverse, and make sure you don't touch the tailpipe, it'll be hot."

 

He pats the seat at the front. "I'll be here, so once you're sitting, put your hands around my hips."

 

"Okay," Bucky's brow furrows as he listens, trying to take it all in.

 

Steve zips up his own jacket as he talks. "When you're on, we turn by leaning. Just keep an eye on our direction of travel; if we're going to be turning right, look over my right shoulder. If we go left, look over my left. Basically, just keep your body in line with mine at all times.

 

"If you ever need me to stop, or are having trouble with something, tap me on the centre of my back and I'll find somewhere to pull over."

 

He dismounts smoothly and runs his thumb over the frown lines on Bucky's forehead. "We'll go around the block first. If you don't like it, I'll drive your car. Is that okay?"

 

Bucky exhales and nods. "Yeah, it's okay."

 

He takes the helmet from Bucky's hands and secures it to his head properly, making sure the visor is down. "Gotta protect that pretty head," he says. Bucky rolls his eyes only to realise Steve can't see him with the visor down.

 

"I'll get on first, you slide behind me." Steve mounts the bike before looking over his left shoulder at Bucky. "Come on up," he says with a little grin, and the whole scene is far too sexy. It at least takes the sting out of Bucky's worry about the bike. Now he's just worried it's going to be awkward if he finds the trip _too_ interesting.

 

Bucky mounts the back seat and grips Steve's hips. He looks down to make sure both feet are placed correctly on the foot pegs.

 

"You ready to go?" Steve asks, and one hand comes up to give Steve the thumbs up. Steve brushes that hand and then presses it back down to his waist. "Let's give it a try."

 

Bucky's unprepared for the unique feeling of the bike's engine starting up between his legs. He startles for a moment, thighs gripping the chassis and fingers clenching in Steve's jacket. Steve pats his hand, checks his mirrors, and slowly edges out into the street.

 

Bucky finds himself plastered to Steve's back. Even though they're not in the grasp of Fall yet, when travelling at speed with no metal box around them, it gets decidedly chilly.

 

It's completely bizarre to be travelling out of the safety of a car, but Bucky definitely finds it exhilarating. He remembers what Steve says about the turns, and is on the lookout for each one.

 

They do a full circuit around the block and get back to the set of traffic lights that will take them beyond Bucky's block. Steve stops and balances against the ground, giving a little look over his shoulder. "Want to keep going?"

 

Bucky nods, gives a thumbs up. Steve returns the gesture with a bright smile, the light goes green, and they head off.

 

Bucky knows Steve told him to hold around the hips, but it just doesn't quite feel safe enough. He ends up wrapping his arms entirely around Steve's waist, trusting that if that's more than he should be doing, Steve will correct.

 

It's fine, though. Bucky feels a little safer pressed closer to Steve. He can see why people find motorcycles exhilarating, but can also definitely see why they're a bit daunting.

 

Sometimes when they stop at traffic lights, Steve will trace the back of his hand, and Bucky's not sure how he knows, but it seems to be a questioning touch. Bucky responds with a squeeze, and all is well.

 

Also when they stop, sometimes someone walking down the street will recognise Steve -- obviously without his helmet -- and either do a double-take or wave excitedly to him. The best one is pulling up next to a station wagon to see a couple of little kids in the back seat. They see Steve and kind of lose it, shouting to their parents and waving manically at him. Both Steve and Bucky wave until the light turns green and they have to head off. Bucky can feel Steve chuckle through his jacket at the encounter.

 

It takes about twenty minutes to get to Steve's apartment block. It's just fancy enough that it has an underground parking lot in the basement, which is handy for Steve. They drive down the ramp and Steve uses his security keycard to open the door.

 

Finally, they make it to his parking space and Steve pulls in. He settles his feet on the ground and kills the engine. Then and only then do Bucky's boots slip off the footpegs and onto the concrete.

 

He reluctantly lets go of Steve and reaches up to unbuckle the helmet. Bucky pulls it off and ruffles his flattened hair. But all he has to do is look up and give a chuckle at Steve's windswept style.

 

Steve has turned a little to give him a look that is unmistakeably fond. "What?" Bucky says. "My helmet hair doing it for you?"

 

"Is it ever," Steve replies immediately, twisting his torso and bringing up a hand to cup the side of Bucky's face. Bucky leans into the kiss automatically and damned if it isn't stupid-hot and stupid-romantic. If someone took a photo of them right now, it'd probably do really well as the cover to a queer Harlequin romance-type novel.

 

Steve breaks the kiss, but doesn't move away. "You have to slide off first so I can. And remember to watch the tailpipe," he instructs softly.

 

"You got it, Cap," Bucky grins. He slides to the left, right leg going up and over like he's dismounting a horse. Steve also dismounts and puts down the kickstand. Slipping his hand into Bucky's, they make their way to the elevator and up to Steve's floor.

 

The apartment has a staleness to the air, seeing as it hasn't been opened in a good five days, so Bucky opens a window to let some fresh air in while Steve makes himself busy in the bedroom, packing some clothes.

 

He checks the fridge to see if there are any perishable items in there. There's a few tomatoes in a bowl that are on the turn, so Bucky throws them away. He putters around for a long while, longer than what he'd expect to have to, before curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches Steve's bedroom.

 

Bucky knocks on the doorframe politely. "Hey, you need a hand with something?"

 

Steve has multiple sets of clothes in piles on his bed, and he's poring over them. There are the makings of at least four different outfits there.

 

"I need to choose what I'm going to wear to dinner," he says without looking away from the bed.

 

There's a note of strain in Steve's voice, and Bucky chuckles. "You don't have to stress about it. Honestly, jeans and a nice shirt would probably do it."

 

Steve is aghast. "Not on the first meeting! I have to make a good impression." He gravitates towards the most formal outfit on the bed, a charcoal suit and tie.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes because only Steve would think that _Captain America_ wouldn't make a good enough first impression.

 

But as he has so fondly been reminding Becca of this week, Captain America is always Steve Rogers, but Steve Rogers isn't always _Captain America_.

 

And Steve Rogers is currently having perfectly normal anxiety about what to wear to meet his boyfriend's parents. It's actually pretty cute, seeing the concern written on his face. He cares about making a good impression on Bucky's loved ones, and it's terribly endearing.

 

Bucky pushes himself away from the doorframe and enters Steve's bedroom properly. "Suit and tie the sort of thing you'd 'meet the parents' in in the Great Depression?" he gently teases.

 

Steve pauses, chewing on his bottom lip. "I ah... I wouldn't know."

 

They're quiet as Bucky considers Steve's answer. If he's never had the whole 'meet the parents' experience before, that adds a whole new layer of pressure on him. It's got to be hard to do something for the first time when all of his purely theoretical experience is giving him information that's seventy-odd years out of date.

 

"Can I help, then?" Bucky asks.

 

Steve lifts an arm up in response and Bucky automatically goes to stand under it. The arm curls around his shoulders, and Steve rests his cheek against the side of Bucky's head, sighing.

 

Poor guy is genuinely bothered by this. Bucky rubs his palm absently against Steve's back.

 

He points to one outfit. "Okay, first? Nix the suit. It's dinner at my folks' house."

 

"But-"

 

"If it were a nice restaurant or a formal occasion, sure. Important event? Yeah. But this is just a home dinner."

 

Steve shakes his head. "Your generation has a skewed perspective as what counts as important," he gives a little sass back, but capitulates immediately.

 

Bucky points to another, a very nice but well-worn in leather jacket, with a plain t shirt and pressed jeans, similar to what he currently wears. "This is a great outfit, but that combination is probably one for another time? Not the first meeting." He gives Steve a gentle pinch on the side. "Also jeans don't have creases."

 

Steve nudges Bucky with his nose. "So noted."

 

"This one," Bucky points to a jacket where the arms are a slightly different colour to the main body. "Ditch it. You'll look like a college frat-bro. Maybe even burn it."

 

"You have strong feelings about that jacket," Steve observes.

 

"Maybe I do," Bucky counters, turning his attention to the last outfit.

 

Black tapered trousers with a black belt, a blue and white small-checked shirt and a blue sweater over the top. Smart-looking, but not too formal.

 

"This one, I think," Bucky says. Looks good, comfortable, nice without being too stiff."

 

Steve sighs. "I don't know. It still didn't feel like 'enough'. Don't I need a jacket?"

 

Bucky arches a brow. "Want a second opinion?"

 

Steve pauses only a moment. "Sure. Who'd you have in mind?"

 

Bucky retrieves his phone from his pocket and takes a photo. He attaches it to a message and types furiously.

 

_Bucky: Steve stressed over what to wear to dinner, worried it's not formal enough. What do you think? [attached image]_

"Who'd you text?" Steve asks.

 

Bucky holds one finger up. "Wait for it." Steve's frown doesn't leave his brow until Bucky gives him a crooked, charming smile.

 

His phone chimes a few moments later. Opening the message up, he grins.

 

_Becca: Good choice! If he's worried about not being formal, add a tie and it's still fine!_

_Becca: also, how is he real. OMG, Bucky._

 

"Becca says add a tie if you're worried about it not being formal enough," he says.

 

Steve steps over to the bed and pulls the tie from the suit, placing it with his shirt. Those huge shoulders relax and he breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay. Okay, that's good."

 

_Bucky: Thanks li'l sis. Meanwhile, I have no friggin' clue._

 

Steve gathers the rest of his things and puts them in a bag. He laments that his clothes are going to get crushed, but Bucky tells him they can make use of the iron at his apartment.

 

Making sure the door is locked and secure as they exit, they make their way back down to the basement parking lot.

 

Steve finds his spare helmet to let Bucky use, which is a black shiny thing with three vertical red stripes painted right down the centre. He also straps the bag securely to the back of his cycle with bungee cord.

 

Now Bucky knows what to expect from the ride, he's able to enjoy it a little more. He's still hyper-aware of everything around him, but less nervous. Maybe because of that, it seems as though the journey takes a much shorter time, much to Bucky's disappointment. And although he feels a little more confident second time around, it still doesn't stop him from pressing flush against Steve for the return journey.

 

Steve parks his motorcycle back in the alley, and they take the two helmets and Steve's bag up to Bucky's apartment.

 

Babushka ignores them when they arrive, so put out by being left alone. This lasts about as long as it takes for Steve to sit on the sofa. She gets over her snobbery fairly quickly and leaps onto his lap to be petted and doted upon.

 

It's nice to be home again, and it's nice to have Steve in that space as well. They take turns in the shower and get into comfortable clothes. Bucky introduces Steve to the TV series _Black Books._ He regrets it once Steve starts drawing similarities to Bucky and the main character on their similar reactions to being woken up. But it's fun to see Steve laugh, and he keeps watching episode after episode well into the afternoon.

 

Somehow, as they're lounging on the sofa at opposite ends, Bucky's legs make it up onto the cushions, feet practically in his boyfriend's lap. Steve rests his hand on Bucky's calf through his flannel pants and absently begins massaging it. Bucky sinks a little further into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.

 

When he looks up, however, Steve has a little frown. Bucky digs his toes into Steve's thigh. "You're either worried the pizza isn't going to get here in time before your stomach implodes, or you're thinking about tomorrow."

 

Steve gives him a little smile and squeezes his calf muscle. "Can't it be both?"

 

Bucky looks at the time on his phone. "Well, the pizza should be here any minute, and I can give you a little background on my family so you know who's who and not stepping in there blind. Sound okay?"

 

Steve cocks an eyebrow. "What, like a mission briefing?"

 

"I don't want you to think you're having to do work, but... would that association make it easier for you to process the info?"

 

Steve thinks on it as the doorbell rings. Bucky levers himself up off the sofa and walks to the door, grabbing his wallet along the way. The pizza delivery kid is looking bored outside the door, which Bucky only opens part of the way. It's wide enough to not look intentionally blocked, but narrow enough to not allow a view of the sofa.

 

Bucky has a brief chat with the kid who delivers four pizzas in exchange for some cash and a decent tip for his timely arrival. Bucky takes the pizza in his arms and shuts the door with his foot.

 

"I think so," Steve says, answering the question when the apartment is closed once again. "And it won't feel like work. First of all, I never get to attend briefings in my pajamas and bare feet, they're normally a little more formal," Steve begins. Bucky smirks as he hands the pizzas over to Steve, before going to the kitchen and getting some plates and napkins. "Secondly, you're way cuter than the people who usually brief me. So there's that."

 

Bucky flops down on the sofa next to Steve and hands him a plate, although Steve has already opened a box and started biting into one of the slices. "I'm glad you think so."

 

"It's _true_ ," Steve insists around a mouthful of pizza. "I've never fantasised about kissing the Director."

 

Bucky takes a bite out of his slice of pizza to cover the fact that Steve just admitted to fantasising about him and he wants to grin like a dope. Totally not a bad thing.

 

So they sit and informally discuss the dynamics of Bucky's family, running over any points that would be good to know.

 

George Barnes: Engineer, dry sense of humour, getting his fifteen year AA chip in November. Has strange fascination with The History Channel and -- much to Bucky's disgust -- _Ancient Aliens._

 

Winifred Barnes: Middle school teacher going on twenty-two years. There's not a line from a kid she hasn't heard and debunked (likely where Bucky gets his excellent kid bedside-manner from). Avid contributor to school community and neighbourhood, usually in the form of baking. Proud mother, ecstatic grandmother.

 

Rebecca Barnes Proctor: Loud, sweet, honest, well-read. Copy editor for a publishing company on maternity leave, but just starting at work again part-time. Married to Nick Proctor for five years. Mother of two; Robert (3) and Isobel (9 mths). Wins award for 'Most Likely to Play Devil's Advocate'.

 

Nick Proctor: A year older than Bucky. Used to be pretty quiet, but joining the Barnes clan changed that somewhat. General Manager of Sales at the publishing company Rebecca works at, which is where they met. Football fan, doting dad, kind of like the brother Bucky never had. Made Bucky a groomsman at the wedding, and also planned it especially during one of his furloughs so he wouldn't miss out on his sister getting married.

 

Abigail Barnes: Stylish, well-spoken, tech-head. Very media-savvy, goes well with her job as social media guru for a clothing company. Always has her phone attached, but also always makes a concerted effort to ditch it at family gatherings. Amateur photographer in her spare time, has a strange affinity for hair metal bands of the 80's. Wins award for 'Most Likely to Quote You on Twitter'.

 

Grace Barnes: Passionate, educated. Walks off the beaten track, prefers flattering clothing styles from the 40s, 50s and 60s. Doing her PhD in History with a focus on twentieth century women's contributions. Wins the award for 'Most Likely to Bring Out Bucky's Protective Streak'.

 

Steve listens to everything as he eats his pizza, taking each scrap of information in, storing it away carefully. Bucky goes to a shelf and brings over a photo frame of them all from just under two years ago. Isobel wasn't born, Robert was only a baby, and Bucky's hair was longer. Steve takes the frame carefully and studies the picture.

 

When he looks at Grace his eyes widen a little. He wears a complicated expression for a moment before it smooths away. Steve looks to Bucky and knows Bucky saw his face. It's a testament to how well they know each other. Bucky can tell if Steve's holding something back, so often, Steve doesn't bother.

 

"Grace... she's wearing her hair like Peg-- like Agent Carter used to."

 

"I know who Peggy Carter is," Bucky smiles kindly as he looks down at the photo.

 

It's true. Gracie's whole style evolved from her teen crush on Steve from the newsreels, and her ninth grade history class. Her feelings about him led her to delving into research about Steve, and all those associated with him, which included one Peggy Carter, as she was the only woman who had any sort of less-than-vague link to him.

 

"Oh," Steve says, and the frown is back.

 

Bucky sits down on the sofa closer to Steve, but doesn't reach out to touch him. "Gracie ended up doing a fair bit of research into Peggy Carter, her life and her impact over time... It led her to wanting to do a doctorate on more influential twentieth century women, particularly those making inroads in more male-dominated fields. There's apparently this whole unit on Peggy Carter but it still has a lot of research gaps and _wow_ , I'm just realising how weird this must sound to you right now."

 

Steve gives him a faint smile. "A little bit, yeah."

 

Bucky chews on his bottom lip. "Look, I'm going to level with you. Gracie's going to ask you stuff, or at least try, especially considering her PhD. I love her, but I don't want her putting you in an awkward position, or making you feel like you have to answer questions you really don't want to."

 

Steve exhales audibly. "I can answer questions."

 

Bucky shakes his head emphatically. "This isn't a Captain America interview, this my family meeting my boyfriend, Steve. I kinda wouldn't expect my boyfriend to have to field questions from said family about a--" Bucky pauses, unsure of how to describe Peggy Carter, before settling on something that seems accurate to his limited knowledge on the facts, "--a prior sweetheart. It's a bit tacky, and I certainly wouldn't be doing it if our positions were reversed."

 

Steve's eyes drop, but the frown turns speculative, as though he's considering Bucky's words. "That's... that's a good point, actually," he admits.

 

"I'm full of them," Bucky confides. He takes the opportunity to put his hand over Steve's, curling fingers gently around his knuckles. "Look, I'm not going to tell you to not answer questions, because you're a grown-ass man and can do what you want. All I'm saying is that _you don't have to_. If you're asked something that you think is more a Captain America question than a Steve Rogers question, don't feel obligated to reply. I will back your play one hundred per cent."

 

"Do you think if I answered questions I'd be helping her with her doctorate?"

 

Bucky bites his bottom lip. Grace would _flip out_ at the chance to interview Steve and get information directly from him. But there's a catch, there always is.  

 

"I'm not going to lie," Bucky says slowly, "you probably would be. But that's not the take-away from this meeting. She's not here because she's doing a PhD, she's here because she's my baby sister and I want her to meet my boyfriend, Steve." Bucky squeezes Steve's hand, only to have the gesture returned immediately.

 

"I don't know much, but it's clear to me that Peggy Carter is a subject of... some sensitivity to you. If _\--_ and it _is_ an _if_ \-- you agree to help her at some future stage, it'll be because you _want_ to, and you've set down guidelines with her as a researcher first. Not just getting railroaded with questions in front of everyone because you think you have to, and that it's just part of the whole experience. It's not."

 

Steve gives him a tremulous smile, and Bucky is encouraged to continue. "I know my family. If you set your boundaries early, there's no room for misunderstanding. They _will_ respect them, and it'll happen from day one."

 

Steve sits back a little, without dropping Bucky's hand. It takes a moment for him to digest the information. He nods his head shallowly, the gears still clearly turning. Eventually, he looks up to meet Bucky's eyes.

 

"Was that your work voice, Buck?" he asks.

 

"Damnit, you know I think it was," Bucky sighs.

 

Steve gives a little grin and impulsively leans forward to pull Bucky into a hug over the plates and pizza boxes. Bucky wraps his arms tightly around Steve.

 

"Thank you." His voice is muffled against Bucky's shoulder. "I already feel better with you on my six."

 

"I won't be the only one. Becca is going to help, too. I've been discussing various scenarios with her during the week."

 

Steve pulls back a little. "Oh?" he queries with a curious smile.

 

Bucky nods gravely. "I am prepared to distract them and have her smuggle you out the back door if it gets too intense."

 

"Are you expecting the need for an evac?" Steve asks, arching one brow.

 

"Not unless they start showing you my baby pictures. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

 

Steve grins. "But maybe I _want_ them to show me your baby pi--" and is cut off when a pillow flies at his face. After a brief commotion, they settle back down to eat more pizza. The rest of dinner passes by comfortably as they continue to watch _Black Books_.  


In between, Steve keeps Bucky entertained with amusing anecdotes from the DC trip. He talks a little about how the SHIELD offices are different in DC than they are in New York, how the attitude and dress code are slightly altered given the proximity to Capitol Hill. He tells them that the recruits he met for training are pretty green, but they're a good bunch. He talks about how he and Sam both stopped by Sam's old VA branch and met some returned veterans.

 

Bucky nods, and pokes his feet into Steve's lap, having slipped down the cushions once again.  


"I visited my former counsellor," he remarks, wiping greasy fingers on a napkin. "After the Battle of New York, I needed to do something -- be _somewhere_ \-- different from New York and just... take everything in."

 

"Yeah, space aliens, huh? Who knew?"

 

"Your dad, apparently," Steve quips gently, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

Bucky can blithely say it now, but he has to admit, it was pretty fucking unbelievable to be deployed in the Middle East and hear intel about portals opening up above Midtown and spewing out an alien army. He -- along with quite a few other Rangers -- were ready to demand to be shipped home immediately to help. Turns out further reports came through about a group of heroes, including a recently found Captain America, formed up to send the aliens packing.

 

"I couldn't believe it at first," Bucky admits. "I was in Iraq, and wanted to come home straight away."

 

Steve nods. "I was only a month out of World War II, as well," he adds gravely.

 

Bucky winces. The culture shock and mental and emotional whiplash would've been off the scale. Steve isn't perfect, Bucky knows that objectively. His counsellor-brain tells him there are issues there, but he tries his best to not view Steve with his work-goggles. It's just a little amazing to Bucky how well-adjusted Steve is, all things considered, and how honest he's trying to be.

 

"So I moved to DC," Steve continues, "and the new scenery was helpful. So much had changed in New York since I'd been gone... it was nice to be somewhere I wasn't expecting to have stayed the same."

 

"And you met Sam there, right?" Bucky asks.

 

"Yeah," Steve answers, and he gives a little grin. "It was still something of a novelty to meet new people and _not_ feel like a fish out of water, but when we started getting friendly, Sam suggested a counsellor other than him so I could keep things separate."

 

"That's good," Bucky nods. "You don't have a conflict of interests, then."

 

"That's what he said. I can have a friend and not feel like he's psychoanalysing me, or something. So he introduced me to Lauren, and she was pretty great."

 

"Do you keep in touch with her, or anyone else from DC?"

 

Steve's lips purse. "A few people... I try and get here to visit on the regular." He pauses, but it's a strange silence this time. Bucky watches him carefully. It's very much like Steve is having an internal debate as to whether to continue or not.

 

"Peggy--" Steve stops, wetting his lips. "Peggy Carter lives there. In an... what do they call them now? Aged care facility?" Bucky nods wordlessly. "I visit her when I can. Dropped in this time, too."

 

Bucky has to school the surprise away from his face. As a counsellor -- or a boyfriend -- he has really no idea what to ask first. "How is she doing?" is the first thing that pops to mind.

 

"She's okay. Very frail. Has--" Steve blinks rapidly, but gets himself under control, "has trouble remembering things. But she knows who I am." That final part is said with such frail triumph, Bucky wants to enfold Steve in a hug.

 

Bucky can't even imagine what it must be like to go from saying goodbye to someone at the age of twenty-four, and seeing them again as an elderly woman, only barely any time has passed for you. For someone who cares as deeply as Bucky has come to know that Steve does, it would be so difficult to try and comprehend.

 

He shifts around so he's lying the same way as Steve, half-on his chest. Bucky can feel the steady thump of Steve's heart beneath his shirt. "I didn't know she lived in DC," Bucky admits. He doesn't want to make the more stark admission that he didn't know she was still _alive_. She'd have to be in her nineties now.

 

"Her great-niece works for the SHIELD offices in DC. I think she likes to be near Sharon, they're very close."

 

Bucky lays his head down against Steve's shoulder, his face nearly pressing against the soft skin of Steve's neck, breath ghosting across his collarbones. "It's good she has family close by," Bucky murmurs, and Steve grunts in agreement.  


Steve has Bucky's hand in a grip that is just north of tight, but Bucky will be damned if he's going to show any sign of discomfort.

 

"I'm sorry if it's weird," Steve apologises, only to squirm when Bucky snorts right next to his neck.

 

"Why the fuck are you apologising, Steve? You haven't done anything wrong."

 

"I know that, objectively. But the... _situation_ , can sometimes get me a little down, and then with the information about your sister, I--

 

Bucky's eyes are drawn immediately to his family photo, to Grace in her pincurled waves. He pushes himself up off Steve's chest immediately. "Oh, shit. Steve. The thing with Gracie--"

 

Steve grips his shoulders. "--is _fine_ ," he finishes firmly. "I'm going to be fine. Visits with Peggy always... they leave me a little melancholy, but it's okay. Your sister looking like someone out of the forties or asking me a question about her isn't going to send me flying over the cuckoo's nest or whatever you might be thinking."

 

Bucky looks at Steve seriously. "I know it's a cosmetic thing only, but I can ask Grace not to dress like that if it's a problem. It's not like she does it all the time, anyway. And she would do it, if I asked."

 

Steve laughs softly, and cards his fingers through Bucky's hair. "I'm not going to get your sister to change her clothes because it might offend my 'delicate sensibilities'."

 

Bucky tucks his face against Steve's neck again, and Steve wraps big arms around him. "It's not about offending you, per se, it's about making sure you're not uncomfortable when meeting my family. I know you're anxious about it, I am, too."

 

"Really? You're being remarkably calm about it all."

 

"Ahh, but that's because I know one thing they don't."

 

Bucky can feel Steve's expression change. "And what's that?"

 

"I already _know_ Steve Rogers is fantastic. Them actually liking you is pretty much a foregone conclusion."

 

Steve huffs out a chuckle that Bucky can feel right through his enormous chest. "I'm glad I inspire that level of confidence."

 

Bucky wants to say something vaguely smartass-y to that ludicrous line, but doesn't. Instead, he presses a series of tender kisses down the line of Steve's jaw.

 

Steve holds Bucky and stays very still under Bucky's ministrations. Bucky actually thinks Steve might be dozing under the attention until he hears his name.

 

"Buck?" Steve asks quietly.

 

"Mhm?" Bucky answers, his nose brushing the beautiful angle of Steve's jaw. Steve's muscles contract under his body for a moment, giving away tension.

 

"I'm going to talk to you about Peggy. At some stage, but not now. It's not really the right time."

 

Bucky stops his kisses, and curls one arm up and around to cradle the back of Steve's neck. "Whenever you're ready, I will be, too."

 

Bucky hopes he's ready, when that time comes. He _thinks_ he will be.

 

They trade soft kisses for a while, turning _Black Books_ back on for some background noise. It's nice and grounding, and Bucky feels his own subtly buried tension about tomorrow begin to bleed out.

 

His phone chimes plaintively, and Bucky reaches across Steve to his coffee table and checks it out.

 

_Becca: Wardrobe crisis averted, hopefully! Everyone will be ready for five, although there's a chance Abi could be slightly late as she's got a work thing on early afternoon. I have also been seeing Steve on the news all week because of DC, which is so weird. How are you doing?_

Bucky looks to Steve, who is half-watching the TV, half-playing with Babushka as he dangles his fingers off the edge of the sofa. The last thing he feels like doing right now is typing, so he answers in the form of a photograph.

 

He holds the phone up and away from them both and flips the screen. The frame includes his head and shoulders, longer lengths of his hair splayed out over Steve's t shirt-clad chest. That chest is in pretty full view, as well as his shoulders and one bicep. Steve's visible in profile at the top of frame, but the image is pretty dark as the sun's gone down but Bucky hasn't turned on any additional lights. It makes for a dark and gritty picture.

 

_Bucky: Doing ok [attached image]_

Almost immediately he sends the message, his phone buzzes to life, Rebecca's name on the caller ID. Steve looks at it before his eyes go to Bucky.

 

Bucky studies the screen before swiping the red phone icon, ignoring the call. He immediately opens up his messages again, muttering curses that he has to use both hands, and types out a message.

 

_Bucky: Not a good time for a call. Will see you tomorrow, Becs._

_Becca: Okay, Bucky. See you tomorrow xo_

_Bucky: xo_

 

"Didn't answer?" Steve asks softly.

 

Bucky drops his phone back onto the coffee table. "We've been speaking non-stop all week, and I'm seeing her tomorrow. Short of a medical emergency or international incident, conversation can wait."

 

"Not in the mood for talking?" Steve asks, and there is a little tease in his voice.

 

Bucky props himself up a little on Steve's chest, fingers going into Steve's hair. "Not with my sister," he says with conviction, before kissing him decisively.

 

Eventually, Babushka trying to steal bits of pepperoni stuck to the pizza boxes disturbs Bucky enough to get him to get up off the couch. He and Steve both clean up the dishes and the empty pizza boxes before meandering into Bucky's bedroom.

 

Unlike Steve, Bucky has a TV in his bedroom, so it adds some nice distraction to changing locations. Bucky makes sure Babushka has water and some kibble overnight while Steve uses the bathroom. When it's Bucky's turn, he comes back to find Steve sitting on one side of his bed, propped back against the headboard. He has his sketchbook in his hand and seems to be doodling the actors off the movie he's watching.

 

Bucky putters around, putting his phone on charge and turning the main light off in favour of his bedside lamp. He grabs the remote and flicks on the timer, because waking up with the TV blaring at 4am tends to set him on edge.

 

Steve flicks him a quick glance as he sits down and pulls the sheet and thin blanket away to slip underneath it. "No Ranger panties tonight?" he asks bemusedly.

 

"I don't wear _shorts_ to bed in Fall, Steve."

 

"Pity," is all Steve offers, subtly shuffling closer to the centre of the bed once Bucky's in.

 

Bucky runs a hand through his hair and yawns. "You going to get under the covers, or is this some kind of weird 'eternal vigilance' thing?"

 

Steve rolls his eyes, but takes the cue. He drops his sketchbook and pencil to the floor beside the bed and does a complicated move where he lifts up the covers while still technically being _on_ them, and burrows into them.

 

Steve looks unsure as to what to do next, but Bucky moves closer and nuzzles his cheek. Cheek nuzzling leads to lip nuzzling which leads to kissing and Steve rolling on his side and slowly hitching one leg up over Bucky's knees.

 

It's warm and it's tingly and Bucky has Steve's face cradled in his palms and they are just about flush against one another.

 

Steve rolls Bucky onto his back, pressing into his hip. Bucky stifles a noise when Steve's slightly stubbly chin brushes against the sensitive skin of his neck.

 

"I like this," he murmurs into the hollow of Bucky's throat.

 

"Me too," Bucky says, linking the fingers on one hand with Steve's. There are some higher brain functions still working, the ones that aren't getting completely snowballed by the feeling of Steve's body pressed against his, and they're furiously mentally cataloguing the contents of Bucky's bedside drawer, and his medicine cabinet. He's not _completely_ unprepared should things escalate, but nor does he really have much in the way of supplies that are close by.

 

The bathroom. The bathroom is the closest reserve and that is _too far away to be convenient._

 

Bucky shifts his hips, pushing them against Steve's leg and the accompanying jolt of friction gets him gasping. Steve takes Bucky's open mouth, breathing into it almost, kissing long and deep.

 

One of Steve's hands comes to rest on his hip, at the waistband of his flannel pants where it stops, and Bucky's brain -- in between flashes of pleasure -- remembers all the things that can be done with very _little_ preparation. Bucky's hand moves around Steve's hip to rest on the swell of his ass. He's just about to move it lower when Steve goes completely still, lips freezing at the corner of his mouth.

 

"Steve?" Bucky asks, not a fan of how gravelly his voice sounds.

 

Steve pulls away enough so Bucky can see him. "What if your father doesn't like me?"

 

It's like someone dumping an ice-cold bucket of water in his lap. Bucky goes very still for a moment, before giving a rueful little chuckle and pressing a close-mouthed kiss to Steve's lips. He very gently pushes Steve from on top of him to the side, but not breaking physical contact.

 

Tonight is _not_ the night for progression if Steve can interrupt their extremely hot makeout session with worries about meeting the family. The little frown is back on Steve's forehead, accompanied by an upturn of both brows. Bucky runs a hand through Steve's hair, fingers skating over the shell of his ear softly.

 

Bucky arranges Steve so they're holding hands facing one another, legs tangled. Other more excitable parts of their bodies are observing a conservative distance away from each other right now. Bucky sighs a little.

 

"Be yourself, and my dad is going to think you're great," Bucky assures him.

 

Steve's eyes close. "I've done more nerve-wracking things, but this is getting to me a little for some reason."

 

"It's understandable. New territory, unfamiliar grounds. But trust me when I say that my family are old hands at meeting the kids' partners. There can be a bit of a hazing ritual but... it comes from love. And a twisted sense of humour. You'll be okay."

 

Steve traces patterns on the back of one of Bucky's hands. "I know how important your family is, and I feel like maybe keeping the information from them will put them off-side? Like when Rebecca found out you hadn't told her when you normally would've."

 

Bucky shakes his head emphatically. "If there's any blowback from that at all, it'll be directed at me, not you. And when they meet you, I think they'll understand. It's nothing to be overly concerned about.

 

"If anything, some of our most memorable and fun dinners as a family have come from the 'meet the parents' situation. You got nothing to worry about. If anything, _I'm_ the tough nut in the family to break, and you did okay with me."

 

Steve's eyebrows arch. "Tell me?"

 

Bucky thinks for a minute before he starts smiling wickedly. He tucks himself into Steve a little more thoroughly. "Okay, so back when Nick and Becca were first dating... they had this stupid fight. Nick was a bonehead, and he makes Becca cry. She comes to me a mess, and we spend a lot of time talking about it. He was an idiot, but it wasn't _all_ his fault, y'know?

 

"They did end up sorting it out, but what Becca doesn't know is that I turned up at his apartment while she was sleeping on my bed. I was on my first furlough away from the Army, and was going to be deployed again. He answers his door and the very first words I ever speak to him are telling him that if he ever makes my sister cry like that again, I will break both of his legs. Had _just_ the right amount of crazy to be believable.

 

"Short time after that was the official 'meet the parents' dinner. Keep in mind, this is meant to be our very first meeting. I sit across from him and spend most of dinner deliberately snapping breadsticks in half and making scary, unblinking eye contact. He was weirded out at first, but then he starts grabbing them and snapping them, too. My mom gets annoyed for us breaking and not eating half of them, but it soon escalates into a competition of who can snap more at once."

 

Steve's grin has been increasing in size as the story continues. "We still do it, every dinner, in fact. Mom hates it but she never tries to stop us. She just calls it 'that Bucky and Nick thing', and has plenty of breadsticks on hand."

 

"And who's broken the most at once?"

 

"I hold the record with four. My mom makes a mean breadstick. Nick did five a while back, but turns out he cheated by pre-notching some of them with his knife. Didn't count."

 

"Does anyone know _why_ you do it?" Steve asks.

 

"Not unless Nick's told them. Which I kinda doubt, given the origins. It's now in Barnes family folklore as this weird ritual Nick and I have, and the rest of the family are _still_ trying to figure out why." Bucky turns serious eyes onto Steve. "Now that I've told you, you are sworn to secrecy. If Becca finds out I threatened Nick with bodily harm, she's likely to want payback. Despite circumstances. You're now in the circle of trust."

 

"I doubt she'll be able to break my legs," Steve says as he tucks his cheek next to Bucky's. It's intimate, but innocent compared to ten minutes ago.

 

"Says you. All she needs is an open elevator shaft and you're being cut out of your clothes to flash nurses your strawberry jockeys."

 

Steve's laugh reverberates through the bedroom warmly. "Tell me another?" he asks.

 

Bucky grins and tells Steve more stories about ridiculous family dinners until they're both too tired to keep their eyes open anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ohhhhh, guys got cockblocked. Daaammn! 
> 
> * Steve didn't tell Bucky about Peggy's alzheimer's because that information is still just a little bit too personal. Bucky suspects, but Steve will confirm it later.
> 
> * Steve's not sure that it's not totally weird talking about Peggy to Bucky, but he's got to do it, and he will. 
> 
> * Sam and Steve texting Bucky during official functions gives me life. 
> 
> * Steve is genuinely worried about making a good impression. he's a loveable idiot. 
> 
> that's all. Thanks heaps for reading, guys. If you wanted to drop me a comment to let me know what you thought, that'd be frickin' sweet. <3


	10. Dating (week 10 - redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One Where Steve Meets The Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a big, hard slog, but it's worth it, I think! Once again, never EVER possible without Sarah, because she gets me out of slumps, cleans up my shit, and is basically my one-woman cheer squad!
> 
> A thousand thank yous for your continued bookmarks, kudos, and especially comments, Stucky fandom. Your words keep me inspired to continue. And as Sarah knows... i have SO MANY IDEAS. It's ridic. 
> 
> A note on further chapters... I think this might be my only output for August because Sarah's actually visiting me in Australia this month, so we'll be busy having adventures and I doubt I'll have time to write! But we'll probably plan lots of shit between shenanigans. Either way, I apologise for the slight pause, but this (and other things) will continue asap.

**The One Where Steve Meets The Family**

**_(Location: Bucky's Apartment / Barnes family residence)_ **

 

 

The morning of the Sunday Steve is set to meet Bucky's family starts with Bucky cursing when Steve stirs before eight.

 

Bucky blinks his eyes open blearily to find him the bigger spoon, an arm thrown across Steve's waist haphazardly. Babushka has inserted herself between Steve's shoulder blades and Bucky's face. One green eye is open, staring at him like it's _his_ fault one of her bookends is moving.

 

"Steve," Bucky mumbles, "what are you doing." It's not a question, it's a statement. A statement to someone clearly insane.

 

Steve turns over to face Bucky, and he looks so bright-eyed, Bucky squints. It's actually insulting how awake he looks. "How are you fucking awake right now."

 

Laughing softly, Steve pushes a lock of hair from Bucky's forehead. "Good morning to you, too."

 

"That's definitely not what I said," Bucky grumbles, letting his eyes slip shut again, fingers flexing in Steve's shirt around his waist.

 

"My life is enriched for seeing how grumpy you are in the mornings. You're like a little kid. It makes me feel better about everything," Steve comments jovially, hand resting on Bucky's bicep gently.

 

"I'm a fucking badass," Bucky yawns, which kind of ruins the effect, making Steve chuckle.

 

Bucky opens his eyes just as Steve goes to lean across and give him a kiss, but Babushka is still between them, and she takes offence at any and all affection not meant for her. She stands, effectively putting her skinny body right between their faces. Steve's nose hits her fur with surprise, and Bucky starts laughing helplessly.

 

"That was unexpected," Steve remarks, running a large hand over Babushka, who slinks under his touch triumphantly.

 

"The competition for your affection is real," Bucky says, rubbing his eyes, "it's one I'm not sure I'm gonna win."

 

Steve gets out from underneath the covers, but crawls over to Bucky's other side, lying just about on top of him.

 

"You're heavy," Bucky complains, pushing at Steve fitfully. There's a smile in his voice, however, and Steve bridges the gap between their mouths for a sweet kiss.

 

"I think you have an edge. You're a better kisser, but don't tell Bushka."

 

Bucky cranes up to touch their lips again, before he pulls away, nose scrunched up. "Your morning breath tastes like freedom."

 

Steve snorts rudely, before pushing himself up and off the bed. "Asshole."

 

Bucky grins and burrows into the covers more. "And bald eagles."

 

"I haven't eaten one of those in weeks," he responds. Steve touches Bucky's arm, switching subjects. "Can I make us some breakfast?"

 

"Knock yourself out. I have... uh..." he waves his hand vaguely, "food. In fridge. And pantry."

 

Steve laughs again softly. "I'll make do. You sleep for a while longer."

 

Bucky's eyes flutter shut. "That is an excellent idea, Steven. I think I will."

 

He feels a soft press of lips to his forehead, which is quite nice, but Bucky really is too tired to respond.

 

He ends up dozing for another twenty minutes or so, but it's a little futile. Still, it's nice to not have to get up straight away.

 

Eventually, Bucky rolls out of bed giving a jaw-creaking yawn and a large stretch. Babushka looks at him lazily from the centre of the bed.

 

"If I gotta do it, you gotta do it," Bucky says, and scoops her up. She mewls, and squirms around a little until she finds a comfortable position in the crook of his elbow.

 

Bucky shuffles out to his living room before heading towards the kitchen.

 

Steve is at his stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a saucepan, and Bucky sometimes forgets that Steve is more attractive than most actors he sees on the screen nowadays.

 

And he's here, in Bucky's kitchen. Barefoot, bed hair, soft, slept-in clothes, cooking.

 

Jesus fucking Christ.

 

Steve looks up from the stove and gives him a sweet smile. Bucky swallows the lump in his throat.

 

"What're you making?" he asks, scratching Babushka behind the ears.

 

"Porridge," Steve answers. "I found oats in the pantry."

 

Bucky wanders over and looks in the saucepan. "And yet, here in _America_ , we call that 'oatmeal'."

 

"Hush, you. My mom was born in Ireland, we ate 'porridge'."

 

Bucky puts Babushka down on the floor and sidles up to Steve, slipping an arm around his waist. "Gonna trade the star for a shamrock and become 'Captain Ireland'?"

 

Steve chuckles and leans into Bucky a little. "It's a great idea, but I just can't pull off green, and my Gaelic accent is terrible."

 

Bucky watches Steve stir for a little longer, before heading to the cupboard and grabbing a few bowls. Steve turns the heat down on the stove and beckons Bucky over, and scoops out a nice amount into each one. "Do you have any brown sugar?" he asks.

 

Placing the bowls on his counter, Bucky frowns. "Actually... I think I do." He moves to the pantry and starts rifling around. "Becca came over and made this thing a while back and-- well, it was a disaster, but some of the ingredients are still here and-- yes!" He crows triumphantly, and pulls out a half-folded bag.

 

Steve takes a spoon out of the drawer and opens up the bag, wearing a content little smile. He sprinkles a few heaped teaspoons of sugar on the oatmeal, then gives it a splash of milk before mixing it up.

 

Bucky looks at the bowl. It certainly appears nice enough, but pretty plain all things considered. "You don't add any fruit or honey or anything?"

 

"Nope," Steve says. "If you want some, I saw some blueberries in your icebox?"

 

Bucky does the same as Steve, and sprinkles sugar on his oatmeal. They move to the couch, where Steve actually sits crosslegged on the cushion. The first bite has him closing his eyes and smiling.

 

Bucky gives a little shrug and takes a bite as well. It's not bad at all. Not fancy, by any means, but tasty. It's a decent breakfast.

 

The best part about it is how much Steve seems to enjoy it. He savours each and every spoonful.

 

"I wouldn'tve picked you for an oatmeal kind of guy," Bucky says, drawing Steve out of his blissful little bubble.

 

Steve stays quiet for a few moments, looking down into the bowl. "When I was growing up," he begins, "we didn't have a lot of money. Living hand to mouth most of the time. Oats were cheap and filling. Sometimes, it was the only meal we had apart from dinner."

 

Bucky pauses. "So what you're saying is you _don't_ recommend the Great Depression diet plan."

 

Steve quirks a little smile. "The caloric intake is shitty, but mom always made sure I had enough." They spend the rest of the meal in companionable silence, eating and occasionally glancing up at one another, trading smiles. Steve scrapes his bowl clean.

 

Bucky clears the empty bowls away once they finish eating, insisting because Steve made breakfast. Bucky would happily stay in pajamas all day, but decides to get dressed to encourage productivity.

 

Around mid-morning, Steve puts on his cap and sunglasses. Bucky finds something similar, and they head out. Walking Steve to a local little market, they pick up some groceries for Bucky's apartment, as well as some things to take to the Barnes' house.

 

They discuss that while a bottle of wine might be a traditional gift, given Bucky's dad's situation, a more appropriate choice would be dessert. So Bucky picks out a mixed tray of freshly-baked muffins and donuts, while Steve gets talking to a lovely elderly vendor and decides to buy a beautiful bouquet for Bucky's mom. Because he's Steve, and of _course_ Steve would take flowers. Winifred's going to expire from happiness.

 

Bucky has to pull him away, the vendor is so taken by the blond's charm, but that's hardly a surprise... she even adds some additional blooms to the mix, making it extra large. He gives her a beaming 'thank you' smile, then turns it on Bucky. Bucky's knees may wobble for a second, but that's purely speculation. It could be uneven pavement.

 

Oh, he's _sooooo_ in like with Steve.

 

They buy some coffee on the way back. Their arms are full of bags and cups, so it's not like they can hold hands, but their shoulders brush together every second or third step, and the contact is nice.

 

Back at Bucky's apartment, Steve irons his clothes and has a shower, while Bucky digs in his closet for an appropriate outfit. He's not quite as stressed as Steve, but it does bear some thinking about; he wants to wear something that will not make Steve feel like he's under or overdressed.

 

He ends up choosing a plain, white tee underneath a dark blue cardigan, with white jeans and black worn-in boots to round out the ensemble. It complements Steve's clothes without being identical.

 

When the afternoon starts wearing on, it's Bucky turn to have a shower and get dressed. Steve's full of nervous energy, and Bucky does his best to find ways to keep him calm. Whether it's unleashing upon him the power of a Babushka who is ready to do just about anything for catnip, or giving him an impromptu neck massage for tense muscles. Focusing on Steve has the added side effect of giving him something to channel his own nervousness into.

 

Steve knows what he's doing, and he seems to appreciate it. Gradually the slightly manic energy he's giving off dissipates. When he sees Bucky dressed up, the anxiety nearly fully melts away to be replaced by pleasure. He strides to Bucky straight away and envelops him in a warm hug.

 

"You look amazing," he says, muffled against Bucky's shoulder.

 

Bucky snorts a laugh. "Like anyone's going to be paying any attention to me tonight," he jokes and chases a kiss. Steve's shaved, but Bucky's left his weekend stubble in place, and he rubs it against Steve's cheek.

 

"I like it," Steve rumbles his agreement, running a thumb down the rough surface of Bucky's cheek. He pulls back from Bucky to hold him by the shoulders at arm's length.

 

"You should definitely dress up more often," he says.

 

"I would if you ever took me anywhere nice," Bucky grins facetiously.

 

"Maybe we should," Steve ponders quietly, thoughtfulness taking over his face.

 

Bucky pauses before pressing a kiss to Steve's lips. "Don't have to think about that now." He rests his forehead against Steve's. "We should to get going."

 

"Okay," Steve agrees, taking Bucky's hands in his.

 

Making sure Babushka is set for food and water for the evening, they gather up the flowers and baked goods and make for Bucky's car.

 

The Barnes' don't live too far away, maybe half an hour with traffic. Steve goes over some facts aloud about each member of the family to make sure he remembers who's who and who does what, and Bucky does his best to be supportive. Secretly he's dying inside because it's ridiculously cute that Steve's on this memorisation kick.

 

Bucky points out the house as they drive by, looking for a place to park. Bucky finds that his sisters have left him a space by the side of the house, and they've parked on the street. That is probably Rebecca's doing, and he smiles and inwardly thanks his sister's practicality.

 

He pulls up on the asphalt next to the home, behind his parents' car and puts the brake on. Steve is looking up at the house warily. Slapping his thigh reassuringly, Bucky opens the door. "Come on, Rogers," he says with a little more enthusiasm than he's feeling. Steve's renewed nerves are bleeding out onto him.

 

It's really fine, though. He's brought people home to meet his parents before and felt the same kind of jitters. It's just Steve's identity that has added the curious element to this, and the desire for normality over treating him like a celebrity.

 

Bucky sits up straight, shoulders back, confident just of his jaw, and looks to Steve.

 

Steve huffs out a breath. "Yeah, okay," he says, flicking a glance to Bucky. Bucky's not sure if it's subconscious or intentional, but when Steve sees Bucky's more self-assured posture, he moves to mimic it immediately, straightening his back, and giving a little smile.

 

Bucky touches Steve's hand and pulls out his phone before he actually exits the car.

 

_Bucky: We parked next to the house, about to come up if someone doesn't get cold feet._

_Becca: Nick and I are right by the door, everyone else is in the sitting room. Tell Steve I'll protect him._

_Bucky: lol_

 

"What are you smiling about?" Steve asks, the corner of his lip curving up.

 

Bucky shows him the phone, and Steve lets out a little chuckle. "I don't have cold feet, by the way," he insists.

 

"So get out of my car."

 

Just to be stubborn, Steve exits. They gather up the dessert box in its bag and the flowers and head to the front of the house.

 

It's nice being back in his childhood home again; Bucky's parents bought it when he was a toddler, before Rebecca was born. A colonial style house with a circular foyer and bay windows up to the second level. It was cosy as the Barnes clan moved from three to six, and back down to three: but Bucky was deployed on and off for eight years, Rebecca went and got married, and Abigail found her own place... Now it's back to George, Winifred and Grace, with Grace probably set to find her own apartment in the next twelve months.

 

Steve has the flowers and Bucky has the bag of donuts. He slips his left hand into Steve's right as they climb the stairs of the stoop to get to the front door. Bucky knocks gently and gives Steve's hand a reassuring squeeze. Steve glances at him with a faint smile and squeezes back.

 

The door opens carefully to reveal Rebecca. She looks from Steve to Bucky, then back to Steve. Her face goes from a carefully-schooled surprise to wide-eyed and grinning. She doesn't miss their clasped hands, but Bucky wouldn't expect her to.

 

"Come on in," she says as she opens the door wider, the glee barely contained in her voice.

 

"Hey, Becs," Bucky says as he lets Steve's hand go so he can lean in and give her a hug. She returns the embrace but her eyes are clearly still on the tall blond. They part and Bucky comes back to Steve's side, pressing against the length of his arm.

 

Rebecca looks at Steve and pauses a second, a large grin on her face. "Well, I'll be damned. After everything I still had a bit of a question mark but... here you are."

 

Steve drops Bucky's hand and holds it out to her. "Nice to meet you, Rebecca. I've heard a lot about you."

 

"Oh, no. I'm a hugger," Rebecca says, sounding more like a threat than a statement.

 

"She is, you know," another voice pipes in. Nick is standing behind Rebecca with a wry smile, as Rebecca pulls Steve's huge shoulders down into a hug. Steve looks surprised, but not uncomfortable. Yet. Bucky places his free hand on the small of Steve's back as he's subjected to the focused attention from his sister.

 

"Hey, Nick," Bucky greets. Nick moves past Rebecca to take the bag of desserts, and pull Bucky into a light one-armed hug.

 

Nick doesn't look surprised to see Steve, so Rebecca probably at least forewarned him. But truth be told, he's so laid-back that if he hadn't been warned, Steve wouldn'tve probably warranted more than an eyebrow raise.

 

Nick introduces himself to Steve and shakes his hand, before retreating to put the food in the kitchen. Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief. First round of introductions, and so far so good.

 

"Everyone's here," Rebecca tells them. "Abi wasn't late, she got in about ten minutes ago."

 

"Good, that's good," Bucky says. He wants everyone to meet Steve at the same time; it'll just be easier in the long run.

 

"Rebecca? Was that the door?" Winifred Barnes' voice drifts into the entry.

 

Rebecca exchanges a look with Bucky before she answers. "Yes, mom. Bucky and Steve are here."

 

"Oh, good! Come into the sitting room, we're having some finger food."

 

Bucky looks to Steve and takes his hand again. "Come on. They won't bite." Steve interlaces their fingers and is the first one to step forward. Out of the entry and down the hall a short way, to turn left into the sitting room.

 

There's quiet conversation going on between his parents and sisters, mostly centred around fussing over his niece and nephew, but everything stops when they round the corner, Rebecca and Nick on their flanks.

 

Everyone turns to look as they enter, but it takes a few seconds for Steve's presence to sink in.

 

"Hi everyone," Bucky decides to lead off. "This is Steve."

 

Steve smiles. "Hello," he says almost shyly, his hands occupied with Bucky's hand and the large bunch of flowers.

 

There's silence, before one of Bucky's sisters breaks it.

 

"Holy shit," says Abigail.

 

" _Language_ , Abigail Louise," Winifred Barnes scolds, pointing to Robert, who is playing with his favourite truck.

 

"Sorry, sorry. But..." she looks to Steve and flails her arm in his general direction, an incredulous look on her face. "I stand by my statement."

 

His mom is the first one to break out of the stupor. She rises and smooths her skirt down in the front, bypassing the coffee table on her journey to stand in front of them. Her smile is wide, hands warm.

 

"James, so good to see you," she says, leaning in to kiss Bucky's cheek. She looks to Steve expectantly.

 

"These are for you, Mrs Barnes," he says, holding out the beautiful bouquet to her.

 

She fusses over them. "Oh, they're lovely." Reaching forward, she touches her lips to Steve's cheek, and he has to bend over a considerable way to make the contact. "Thank you, Steve, but please, call me Winnie."

 

A slight blush touches Steve's cheeks and Bucky has to bite his lip savagely. Nobody has ever gotten the 'call me Winnie' treatment within seconds of being met. _Nobody_. Not even golden boy Nick.

 

Nick obviously notices this, and pokes Bucky sharply in the back. Bucky subtly flips him off.

 

"I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet, Mrs Barnes," Steve answers.

 

"Quite right, Winnie. Let the man be respectful," Bucky's dad says, coming to stand in front of them. "George Barnes."

 

Steve looks as nervous as Bucky's ever seen him as he sticks out his hand. "Mr Barnes."

 

"Captain Rogers," Mr Barnes replies with a firm handshake, and it's like the collective breath that the room has been holding is exhaled sharply. Bucky observes Grace take a step closer to Abigail and puts her hand on the inside of Abigail's elbow, before he looks to Steve.

 

An awkward expression flits across Steve's face briefly before he answers. "Please, it's just 'Steve'," he insists.

 

Bucky's dad's lips twitch in amusement. "All right, Steve."

 

Steve smiles in appreciation, but he hears a little squeak, presumably from Grace's direction. Bucky watches Grace tug on Abigail's arm roughly, whispering heatedly into her ear.

 

Bucky was hoping not to address it like this, but it seems it's probably better coming sooner rather than later. He takes Steve's hand and addresses everyone.

 

"So... elephant in the room... Steve's Captain America." He feels four pairs of eyes trained upon him, and runs his free hand through his hair. "But he's also Steve Rogers, and Steve happens to be my boyfriend.

 

"We haven't been shy about dating, but we're not exactly broadcasting it on all frequencies, either. Makes it a little tough getting to know someone when you have media dogs breathing down your neck... We've not been seeing each other for a real long time, but I wanted to share with you all, and for some stupid reason he expressed interest in meeting the lunatics I'm fortunate enough to call my family." Steve squeezes Bucky's hand, and Bucky looks to him and gives a little smile.

 

He sighs before continuing. "I know it's big news to be told, and it might take a little while to sink in, but we'd both really appreciate you tryi--"

 

"Buckeeeeeeeeeee--oooff!" a tiny body propels into Bucky's legs, interrupting him, and he looks down. It's Robert, face pressed into his knees.

 

Bucky leans down to pick him up automatically. "Heeyy, champion. What're you doing?"

 

"Bucky _truck_ ," he tells Bucky seriously, waving his red and blue truck in Bucky's face, nearly taking out his nose.

 

"That's awesome, Bobby. I'm going to play trucks with you real soon, okay?"

 

"Bucky truck _now_ ," Bobby insists. Bucky laughs and tickles his belly, while Steve looks on, fascinated. He catches Steve's eye, and taps Bobby on the shoulder.

 

"Hey, Bobby. This is my friend, Steve. Wanna say hello?"

 

Bobby looks him up and down, before going a little shy and putting his head on Bucky's shoulder. "H'lo," he says.

 

Steve gives a little wave of his hand. "Hi, Bobby," he says softly.

 

Rebecca takes him from Bucky's arms. "Hey cutie, let's get you some crackers." She looks to Steve. "He'll be crawling all over you in no time."

 

"I don't know if that's a good thing or not," Steve responds warily.

 

"Well, it's great for him, you're built like a jungle gym," Nick puts in. He's scooped up Isobel from somewhere. Bucky grabs her straight away and she reacts by wrapping tiny chubby arms around his neck and planting a drooling kiss on his cheek.

 

And in an instant Bucky remembers that this is exactly why he finished his tours in the army.

 

Bucky laughs and Steve watches, his eyes wide and face a little dorky.

 

"Steve, this is Isobel. Unfortunate people would give her the nickname of 'Bella', but cool ones would call her 'Izzy'."

 

"Why not Bella?" Steve asks curiously.

 

"Because Bucky thinks it's gauche to have so many 'B' nicknames in the family," Abigail comments, stepping forward, numbering things off on her fingers. "Bucky, Becca, Bobby _and_ Bella? It's just too much for him. He's breaking the streak."

 

Steve gives a little smile. "Sounds just like him to be contrary like that." Bucky rolls his eyes and Abigail laughs delightedly and puts out her hand.

 

"Abigail Barnes, and I can't believe I'm meeting you."

 

"I can't believe _I'm_ meeting the famous Abi," Steve counters. "Your photographs are really beautiful, and your taste in music is... interesting." Abigail blushes and Bucky can see her just folding to Steve's charms effortlessly. Any tension Bucky was feeling at their first interaction dissipates immediately.

 

"Oh, _Poison_ and _Bon Jovi_ are where it's at, Steve, make no mistake," she says brightly, taking his elbow and leading him further into the room. Steve looks to Bucky for help but Bucky's hands are full with Isobel. Bucky gives a little shrug and mouths 'you're fine' as Steve gets kindly manhandled.

 

Nick takes Isobel back so he can face his parents. George and Winifred both look at him, surprised.

 

"James," his mom begins in an impressed voice, "I'm-- I don't know what to say."

 

"I know it's a bit of a surprise--" Bucky begins.

 

"I can see why you've not been as... forthcoming," his father interrupts. "He's not a regular person."

 

And something in the way that his dad says that rubs him the wrong way.

 

"That's just it, dad, he _is._ He's not a soldier all the time, you know? He's also a pretty ordinary guy underneath it." Bucky squeezes the back of his neck. "Steve's not here to be treated like a hero, he's here to be treated like my boyfriend." He pauses, looking from one parent to another. "I'm not saying it's not a little weird, but do you think maybe you could try and treat him normally? We'd both really appreciate it."

 

George looks at him shrewdly. "So that means I get to give him the shovel talk, right?" he asks and Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

"Must you?"

 

"You're my only son," George says with mock seriousness. "It is my duty and privilege."

 

"If you scare him off I'm not going to be happy. He's kinda nice."

 

"Your father will do no such thing," Winifred scolds, and she isn't kidding around, so George puts his hands up in surrender.

 

"Speaking of which..." Bucky looks past his parents to where Abigail is still standing with Steve locked in her arm, talking to Grace. "I might have to go rescue him."

 

"Leave that to me," Winifred says, turning to the girls. "We're going to sit down to dinner, now. Abigail, Grace, James, please come help me in the kitchen."

 

"Why doesn't Becca have to help?" Bucky grouses in mock-seriousness.

 

"She has tiny children to get into high chairs, would you rather do that?"

 

" _Yes_ ," Bucky says immediately.

 

"Too bad," his mom counters, pushing him towards the kitchen. "Go."

 

He looks to Steve with an apologetic shrug, leaving him to be ushered to the dining room by his brother-in-law and father.

 

His mom has prepared a feast, and seems to have taken his suggestion of a second roast to heart. There is plenty of roast meat, vegetables, and he thinks he even sees a pumpkin pie in the oven.

 

Abigail comes up beside him as he's getting a tray of roast sweet potato. "Oh my _god,_ Bucky," she says.

 

"Surprise?" he says with a shrug.

 

"I can't believe... you... Steve Rogers. _Captain America._ He's only in the Top 5 Bachelors in the USA."

 

"Really? Top 5?"

 

"According to _People Magazine_. And _Buzzfeed._ "

 

"Pfft, _Buzzfeed._ "

 

She turns to Grace, who is staring down at a tray of roast chicken. "Can you believe it, Gracie?"

 

Grace looks up and gives Bucky a complicated expression. "I'm still taking it in," she says, her voice a forced calm. Bucky internally winces. Big brother klaxons are going off in his head that something's wrong.

 

Winifred and Abigail exit the kitchen with plates and trays laden with food, leaving him and Grace alone in the kitchen.

 

Just as he's about to ask her if anything's wrong, she looks up at him with dark brows in a frown. "Can I talk to you?" she asks, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

 

"Of course," he says. They go back into the sitting room, where Grace takes up the spot she was in when he and Steve entered the room.

 

Her back is to him. She cuts a beautiful figure in the blue and black fifties style A-line dress, her hair gently curled. It's not too Peggy Carter-esque, of which he's mildly relieved, but it definitely hearkens back to a mid-century style.

 

"He told me I looked very pretty, and that he liked my dress," Grace offers first, and Bucky can't help but smile.

 

"That sounds like Steve," Bucky says. "All complimentary and shit."

 

"I'm struggling to process why you didn't tell me." She turns to face him suddenly, her expression aggrieved.

 

"I didn't actually tell _anyone_. It was a bit of an unbelievable thing, y'know? Also... early days... I didn't want to jump the gun."

 

"You _know_ what I've been working on, and you didn't tell me you knew _Captain America_ ," she says, her cheeks flushed.

 

Bucky rears back a fraction. In a way, he was expecting something like this, but it's still hard to see his sister upset. "So... you're not in fact upset I didn't tell you I had a boyfriend, but that I didn't tell you who he was?" he clarifies, and Grace nods sharply. Bucky stands up a little straighter. "To be fair, half the time I've known him, _I_ didn't know he was Captain America. We met online and I didn't find out until I met him in person."

 

Grace pushes on. "And when you found out you didn't say anything."

 

"No, I didn't. And I stand by that decision."

 

"Bucky, for crying out loud. I've been researching him since I was fourteen and been studying Peggy Carter since I was sixteen. You _know_ my doctorate hinges on her. So many of her peers are either gone or unavailable for firsthand comment, and I've tried to get in touch with them. Hell, there's no way I can speak to the _real_ Peggy Carter, and Steve Rogers is one of the only current first-hand sources out there. About six months ago I put in a request to interview him along with another thirteen academics and I got a nice letter back saying my request was denied. Now you just breeze in here with him and I- I--"

 

Grace seems to run out of breath, and she slumps forward, hair covering her face.

 

Bucky hears her laboured breathing. She's worked herself up into quite the frenzy.

 

"Gracie," he asks softly, "why are you mad at me?"

 

"Because you could've helped. You could've... I don't know, asked him or something." She sounds betrayed, and as much as Bucky feels guilt from his brotherly nature, her anger is still misplaced.

 

Bucky exhales a sharp breath. "If you can believe it, I forgot a little when I first met him that your PhD was partially tied up in him." Grace shifts from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around her body. "Once I did remember..." Bucky runs a hand through his hair. "Our relationship is still pretty new. How do you think it'd make me sound if I asked him to be interviewed by my sister a couple of weeks into knowing him?"

 

Grace gives him a pinched look. "Pretty bad, I guess," she admits.

 

"And not necessarily engendering trust," he says. "Captain America happens to be a guy by the name of Steve Rogers. He is... an incredible spaz. Relentlessly funny, hugely sarcastic, intensely private. I think..." and Bucky wonders if he's overstepping slightly, but he has to make Grace understand, "I think he has trouble rehashing some of his memories from WWII. If you've been in combat, no matter the period of time, or how long ago, you have issues. Lord knows I do."

 

"You mean PTSD," she guesses, more subdued than before. He can see the gears turn in her head. She's familiar with Steve's history, any claims of such a diagnosis have never been confirmed, but then again, Steve doesn't really give any interviews or talk about this stuff. Bucky wouldn't share his speculations at all if he didn't think Grace could show discretion.

 

"For the record, I'm his boyfriend, not his counsellor," Bucky says, but pauses deliberately, "but given that he doesn't do many interviews, it's not right for me to use my relationship to push one on him. He might do it out of some sort of obligation to me, and that's taking advantage."

 

"You're using your work-voice on me," Grace says, a waver in her voice.

 

"Maybe I need to for a second." He moves forward to hold her by the shoulders. "I love you so much, Gracie, but it's not fair of you to have expected me to do this."

 

Once Gracie starts sniffling in earnest, he pulls her in for a hug. "I know he's important to you, but he's important to _me,_ too. It might not have escaped your notice but... I kinda like him."

 

"I noticed," she assures, muffled into his shoulder, and then sighs. "I'm sorry, Buck," she hiccups, "my research has been stressful and I've been applying for this new grant, and looking for an apartment closer to the University and--"

 

"It's okay, honey, I understand." Bucky kisses the top of her head. "If Captain America is part of your stress at the moment, you're in luck, because he's not here. Steve my boyfriend is, and I'd love for you to get to know him. I have it on good authority he's partial to cute, dark-haired Barneses."

 

Grace snorts out a laugh and pushes away from him. "You're making my makeup run," she tells him.

 

"You're smearing mascara on my cardigan and I'm gonna tell mom," he counters.

 

"Suck it up, princess," she says, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

 

There's a gentle knock on the doorframe, and Bucky and Grace both look up to see Steve standing there, one hand awkwardly in his pocket. "Your mom sent me to ask if everything was okay," he says, taking a small step into the room.

 

Gracie dabs her eye again and gives Steve a tremulous smile. "We're fine." She turns to Bucky. I'm going to touch up my makeup and I'll see you at the table in a few minutes, okay?"

 

Bucky nods and kisses her cheek. She exits the room and nods shyly to Steve on the way through. Steve's eyes snap from Grace to Bucky straight away, and he walks over. Bucky sighs.

 

Steve slips his arms around Bucky's waist and pulls him close. Bucky rests against Steve's chest.

 

"Are you all right?" he asks sincerely.

 

"Yeah... Gracie is under a lot of stress at the moment and it kind of boiled over with you as the catalyst--" Bucky is quick to continue as Steve stiffens "--but I think everything's going to be okay. She... she's overwhelmed that you're here."

 

"Her PhD?" Steve queries.

 

"Yeah, but don't worry. She's not going to start grilling you."

 

Steve exhales softly. "You know I'd like to help. But... it's a daunting prospect."

 

"I know. But maybe concentrate on being _Steve_ around her, and she'll understand that what she's doing and why you're here are two separate things. I think she's halfway there."

 

"I'd like to think I'm _Steve_ most of the time, but I know what you mean. And I'll try," Steve promises.

 

Bucky kisses him sweetly. Because he's Steve and because he's awesome. "Don't even worry about that now. All you have to do in this instant is eat my mom's cooking and make your yummy food faces. She'll love that shit."

 

A voice calls out from the dining room. "James! Steve! Are you ready to eat?"

 

Steve's stomach grumbles and Bucky laughs softly. He takes Steve's hand. "Coming, mom!"

 

***  
  
The evening progresses thusly:

 

The breadsticks make an appearance during the appetisers, and suddenly the air is charged with tension. Nick and Bucky always sit directly opposite one another for maximum intimidation. Winifred has long since given up fighting the boys' strange rituals and places a large basket of breadsticks between them and walks away, refusing to acknowledge the part she is playing in their shenanigans.

 

As casual conversation continues, Nick squints at Bucky and snaps three sticks nominally easily. Bucky snorts his disdain and with a little effort, breaks four at once.

 

Steve, in his own, unassuming way, scoops up six and effortlessly snaps them in his large hands. He draws instant scorn.

 

"Unfair!" Nick utters with disgust.

 

"Disqualified," Bucky decrees, snatching one of the broken breadsticks and sticking it in his mouth mutinously. "You can't play with us."

 

"Wow, _Mean Girls_ much, Bucky?" Abigail remarks. The rest of the table gives them the same looks of long-suffering confusion, only amplified because Steve has somehow, in one visit, joined the madness.

 

Steve just grins and chews on the other half of Bucky's breadstick. Bucky squeezes Steve's thigh under the table.

 

Robert, having already been served a little bowl of spaghetti, becomes agitated that he's not currently the centre of attention at dinner. With a flourish, he flips his bowl onto the table, giggling as everyone gasps when tomato sauce splatters.

 

It's not too bad, all things considered. Steve gets a few droplets on his sweater, but it's a little watered down and wipes off easily. The hardest part is not laughing as Rebecca scolds Robert for being silly.

 

Unfortunately, the mission is a failure. Bucky has to turn away and press his face into Steve's arm so his chuckles are muffled. Rebecca glares at him and Nick gives him a decent kick under the table. Steve pats his arm and says 'There, there,' in a deadpan voice which only makes him laugh _more._

 

Winifred and Rebecca bring the dishes out for dinner, and Bucky doesn't think he's ever seen Steve's eyes go so wide. It's hearty stick-to-your-ribs food and there's a lot of it, which is just as well, because Steve begins packing it away in earnest. George is suitably impressed and Winifred practically _glows_ every time Steve gives her that hopeful look and asks if he can have some more.

 

The yummy faces are a definite hit.

 

Before the meal is even finished, Steve has a standing invitation to come over and eat anytime with or without Bucky -- Bucky's not sure how to feel about that one -- and he's practically been ordered to attend Thanksgiving. That holiday would be a wholly different experience with way more family, but by the way Steve's eyes light up, Bucky thinks it might be on the cards.

 

Complimenting Mrs Barnes' cooking turns into everyone having a good-natured rag on Bucky about preparing food for himself, and he ends up having to defend his own ability to feed and keep himself -- and Steve -- alive.

 

"Well, James, if you're not making sure Steve has enough to eat, he'll simply _have_ to come around more often," Winifred proclaims.

 

"You've got a little something on your face there, Buck," Rebecca says, pointing to Bucky's face, and he wipes it.

 

"Oh? What is it?"

 

"It's red, and white, and kind of looks like a bullseye," she grins.

 

Bucky stops wiping immediately and rolls his eyes while the rest of his family titters. Steve's taken to eating his sweet potato mash with his fork in one hand, so the other ends up finding one of Bucky's hands under the table and squeezing it. He looks over to Steve, who is giving him a warm smile.

 

It's Rebecca's turn to cringe. "Oh, that's so disgustingly cute I want to look away."

 

Bucky shrugs. "Not the first time we've made someone look like they've drunk sour milk, probably won't be the last."

 

Bucky's comment prompts demands for elaboration, which leads Steve excitedly telling the story of the rude carnie at Coney Island to the family on one of their first fully-public dates.

 

"--so he's standing there, holding the rifle and says 'I was meant to shoot at what I wanted to win, right, fella?'". The enthusiasm in which Steve relays the story, coupled with Bucky's fairly accurate impersonations of the carnie, have his family in stitches. Even Isobel lets out a peal of laughter, though she has absolutely no idea what's so funny. They take to alternating in their delight, which only seems to spur on the good humour."

 

"--And nearly every single spot on the hatband had a perfect hole through the centre--"

 

"--Well, _one_ didn't, but the sight was bent as shi-- er, anything--"

 

"--But it was amazing though. They were maybe a bit over the size of a quarter, and he nailed every one--"

 

"--the look on his face when you called me 'Sergeant', though. I thought he was going to wet himself."

 

Bucky's dad starts wheezing he's laughing so hard, and Winifred actually thumps him on the back a few times. "My boy doesn't miss," George states, wiping at his eyes, and Bucky is simultaneously pleased and embarrassed at the naked pride in his father's voice.

 

The feeling only intensifies when Steve looks at him admiringly like he's the best fucking thing since sliced bread and responds immediately with a "No, sir, he certainly does _not_." Bucky kind of wants to sink underneath the table. He also wants to kiss Steve senseless, but not in front of his family.

 

His tension is broken suitably when Abigail stands to clear her plate away. "It's officially getting too mushy in here. I need pie."

 

A chorus demanding pie goes up, and Bucky's mom and Grace head to the kitchen, returning momentarily with a freshly-baked pie. The eight adults and two children make short work of it, and Winifred laments that she only made the one, until Bucky reminds her that he and Steve brought muffins and donuts.

 

The family decide to move their socialising back into the sitting room, but not before the many dirty plates are collected. Steve offers to wash up, but is summarily shooed away from the kitchen by every single Barnes.

 

Somehow, Bucky gets roped into it, his protests about dishpan hands falling on deaf ears. In reality, he doesn't want to necessarily abandon Steve completely to his family. Rebecca volunteers to give him a hand, and alleviates his worries when they're alone in the kitchen.

 

"I wouldn't worry, Nick's out there. He'll help Steve if needs be," she assures, turning on the coffee maker before moving to the basin. Bucky arches a curious brow. Rebecca gives a little smile. "I may've discussed this with him. I know it's probably not easy for him to do the 'meet the family' thing in the twenty-first century."

 

Bucky bumps shoulders with her at the sink. "Thanks, Becca. Truth be told... he's never done it before."

 

Rebecca's eyes widen. "Really? Not even--?" Bucky shakes his head. "Wow," she comments, "you wouldn't know it. He has everyone eating out of his hand."

 

"That's Steve for you. Could charm the birds out of the trees with his 'aww shucks' routine," Bucky grins. He concentrates on scrubbing one particular plate. "How do you think it's going so far?"

 

"Really good, Buck. I wasn't sure what it would be like to meet him, but he's just so... _nice_ ," Rebecca responds. "And I don't mean like a twenty-first century 'nice' guy... He's got a really sincere quality about him, like he's not trying to be charming on purpose, he just _is_."

 

"That's... pretty much it in a nutshell," Bucky says. "And when he doesn't want to be nice, he's this sarcastic little shit that is absolutely hilarious." The comment prompts a laugh out of Rebecca.

 

"I never would've thought... I can't _wait_ to meet that Steve," she says.

 

Bucky blinks slowly at that. It's silly, but he'd not considered that this might be the start of Steve interacting more often with his family. He can't say he minds. "It's entertaining, not gonna lie," Bucky says, remembering to answer Rebecca.

 

"I look forward to it." She pauses for a moment. "You two look really good together," she observes, looking at Bucky askance.

 

Bucky stares into the dishwater, the beginnings of a cheeky smile on his face. "Yeah, he scrubs up okay for an older guy, I guess."

 

"So... have you saluted the little Captain yet?" she asks innocently.

 

Bucky inexplicably starts coughing. "I can't stress to you enough," he chokes out when he can breathe, "how much I'm _not_ having this conversation with you."

 

"Such a prude," Rebecca says, throwing the dish towel at his face, which he catches deftly. Thankfully, Rebecca only brings up that topic to get a rise out of him. That done, they can change the subject back to safer topics and chatter on casually until the dishes are done. Rebecca's still drying, but she sends Bucky out to check on everything.

 

He finds Steve sitting on the floor with Robert and Nick, where Bobby is teaching him how to play 'trucks'. 'Trucks' is an incredibly cerebral game, in which the protagonists wheel the truck around and make driving sounds, with the occasional skid or horn effect. Sufficed to say, Steve picks it up fairly quickly.

 

Steve looks up when Bucky re-enters the room, and his face lights up. Bucky can't help but return the smile. It gets broader when Robert tugs on Steve's pantleg and demands his attention. "Steeb play _truck_ ," he insists. Steve apologises profusely and refocuses on the game.

 

"The coffee maker is done," Bucky announces, "who wants what?"

 

Various family members call out their requests, but Winifred ushers Bucky to sit down. He's apparently done his quota of jobs for the evening and has earned a free pass for the rest of the night.  


Instead of joining Steve, however, he goes to sit with his dad by the hearth. While he and Rebecca were doing the dishes, Abigail brought out the muffins and donuts. George sits with a little plate, making short work of a very tasty-looking chocolate chip muffin.

 

Bucky sits opposite his dad, stretching his legs a little out in front of him. The box of donuts is on the sidetable, and he picks out one, taking a large bite out of it. Winifred appears out of nowhere and thrusts a plate underneath the food, gently scolding him.

 

George chuckles. "I could've told you that would happen."

 

"She's got sonar for food being eaten without a plate, I swear," Bucky says as he licks the glaze off his fingers.

 

"You get these from the markets near you?" George asks.

 

"Yeah. Steve and I went this morning to pick up some stuff." Bucky can't help a grin at the memory. "The little old lady florist there added at least an extra six big roses to mom's bouquet because he gave her the time of day."

 

"Did she recognise him, or...?"

 

Bucky chews on his donut. "I'm not sure... I don't think so? He was just being sweet to her and asking questions. She gave him extra flowers."

 

George nods absently. "So you met him online?"

 

"Yeah, pretty ridiculous, huh?" Bucky's dad goes on the internet, but it's mostly to look up second hand stuff on Craigslist, or watch old movies on Youtube. He wouldn't know the details of Tinder, and Bucky's not about to fill him in. George knows it's the internet, and that's enough.

 

"Quite. I watch reports on Sixty Minutes all the time about people being duped out of their savings by people they meet on dating websites."

 

Bucky laughs. "I'm not a fifty-year old divorcee with a Nigerian prince offering to marry her."

 

"Not that you've told me," George responds dryly.

 

"Well, I feel like you'd know by now," Bucky replies.

 

Winifred chooses that moment to bring both her husband and son a mug full of steaming coffee each. Both Barnes men pause their conversation to take a sip. It slightly burns the roof of Bucky's mouth, but he doesn't care. It's _good._

"How _does_ one break the news that you're a National Icon?" George muses.

 

"If he'd told me before we met... I honestly probably would've written him off as a crackpot. But I met him after we'd been in touch for two months. You know, texting, phone calls, talking about life stuff, so by the time I _did_ meet him..." Bucky shrugs. "Yeah, I was thrown off for a bit, but the man 'Steve' I'd been talking to was already more real than this guy from the Avengers and that I only know from the media and history books."

 

"That's all well and good," George continues, "but there must've been _some_ haziness with his job. He clearly wasn't truthful."

 

Bucky cocks his head to the side, capitulating. "I admit, there were some things omitted from our conversations, but he said straight up his job was confidential and there were security issues. I get that, y'know? The details were sketchy but there's not been one shred of an actual lie that I can determine."

 

George sips at his coffee, nodding slowly. "So the operation in Geneva," he begins again, and Bucky sits to attention, "did he actually get hurt?"

 

Bucky clears his throat. "Yeah. Not bad for him, but still needed a little time to recuperate."

 

"How did you handle it?" his dad asks softly.

 

He shifts awkwardly in the chair for a moment. "I get it now. Why you and mom hated watching the news while I was deployed." He rubs a thumb over the rim of his mug. "It's a pretty dreadful feeling of helplessness."

 

"I wish you didn't know what that was like, son."

 

Bucky takes a sip from his coffee, and looks over to where Steve is standing up and dusting off his slacks. Steve turns and looks at him, a smile blossoming over his features. "So far, it's worth it," Bucky says, shifting minutely over on the loveseat.

 

Steve strides over to stand by the sofa. "May I join you?" he asks politely, gesturing to the empty space next to Bucky.

 

"Don't think my other boyfriend is coming, so... sure, why not?" Bucky replies.

 

The loveseat isn't overly large, so when Steve sits, his thigh is pressed flush against Bucky's, and Bucky has to stifle the laugh at Steve's little glance towards George. It's as though he's gauging whether their level of proximity is appropriate. George merely smiles.

 

"Your other boyfriend didn't even call and apologise for not showing up? Atrocious manners. You should dump him," Steve replies.

 

Bucky grins and puts one hand on Steve's thigh, leaning in. "Maybe I will."

 

He plants a fleeting kiss on Steve's lips, to watch his boyfriend's cheeks turn a ridiculous shade of pink. "Oh God, Steve, you'd think I just felt you up, or something," Bucky grins.

 

"Let the man alone, James," George lightly scolds, "I know what he means." George turns to Steve. "When I was courting James' mother, we used to say 'goodnight' to each other on her front porch. We were young and it would sometimes get a little..." he pauses, and Bucky prays he doesn't go into too much detail. "Involved," he decides.

 

"Dad--" Bucky warns.

 

George ignores his son. "One night we took too long, and Winnie's father comes out to find us necking by the mailbox. He nearly ran me off with a shotgun."

 

"What does that have to do with _anything_?" Bucky wonders aloud, and Steve bumps their shoulders together.

 

"It means that I'm not going to have a meltdown if you kiss my son in front of me, Steve," George says.

 

Steve looks poleaxed for a second, before a small, infinitely sweet smile graces his features. "Thank you, sir. It's... well, it is still taking a little to get used to."

 

Winifred appears out of nowhere with a mug of coffee for Steve. He beams up at her and takes the mug in both hands. "Thank you, Mrs Barnes."

 

She glows, and Bucky wants to roll his eyes except he doesn't because his mother looks _ecstatic_.

 

"So, Steve," George says, bringing both Bucky and Steve's attention back to him, "How is SHIELD different from the Army?"

 

Steve's face does the frowny thing where he's considering his answer thoroughly. "In some ways, they're quite similar. There's still ranks and a chain of command, and all the different divisions... but in other ways, it's quite different. SHIELD tends to work a lot more covertly than anything I was used to previously." He drums his fingers against the mug. "There was a certain... _simplicity_ to the Army with regards to mission objectives, wins and losses, that I don't find in great supply nowadays."

 

George looks taken aback and a little impressed at the answer. Bucky knows what that feels like; Steve is usually honest in a way that comes as quite a surprise to twenty-first century folk, himself included.

 

George starts asking Steve questions about SHIELD, and to his credit, he asks things that aren't requiring Steve to answer with classified information.

 

It's interesting from Bucky's perspective, as he gets to hear Steve talk about things that he personally hasn't gotten around to finding out yet; Steve discusses how many countries he's seen, how much down time he gets, whether he prefers being stationed in New York or DC, what prompted him to join SHIELD.

 

This leads to Steve asking questions about George's profession, and they get into quite an intense discussion about engineering and what the vocation means to him.

 

He's heard a lot of his dad's stories before, and he needs to go to the bathroom, so Bucky excuses himself with a squeeze of Steve's shoulder and a nod to his dad. Steve gives a cursory glance up, but otherwise seems embroiled in the conversation.

 

When Bucky comes back from the bathroom, he's waylaid by Abigail.

 

"Hey, Abi. How's your weekend been?" He asks, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Abigail pulls it around her more firmly, tugging on his hand.

 

"It's been nice... I went to the Park and took some shots with my new macro lens and-- I can't believe you just sidetracked me. _Bucky._ "

 

Bucky laughs. "What? Sidetracked you from _what_?"

 

Abigail nods her head towards Steve, who's still listening intently to their dad. She shakes her head. "I don't know how you did it. How did you snag that specimen?"

 

"By being my normal, charming self, of course."

 

"Bullshit," she counters, "you're kind of an asshole."

 

"I've got a secret to tell you," Bucky says, leaning in close to Abigail's ear, "so is he." He gestures to Steve.

 

Abigail shakes her head profusely. "I refuse to believe it. He is sunshine and goodwill and America."

 

" _And_ a smartass. You know on one of our first dates he tried to convince me he'd gone back in time?"

 

Abigail snorts out a laugh. "He did _not_."

 

"He _did._ And it's not like dating someone where you _know_ they're bullshitting. He can be a goddamn superhero. I didn't know if he was joking or not."

 

She laughs again, slinging an arm around his waist. They both watch Steve and George chat, who've now been joined by Winifred. She sits on the loveseat next to Steve, and he turns his body a little so he's facing them both.

 

Bucky tears his eyes away to find Grace, who seems to be helping Rebecca and Nick pack up the kids' toys. "Is Gracie doing okay, d'you think?" Bucky asks quietly.

 

"She's had a tough week, this came as a bit of a surprise," Abigail says in a similarly quiet voice. "Becca is talking to her, though. I think she'll come good."

 

"I hope so," Bucky mutters.

 

"Bucky," Rebecca calls out, and Bucky raises his eyebrows, "can you put Izzy's stroller in the trunk? We have to get the kids home soon."

 

Bucky sighs dramatically and Abigail gives him a push towards their sister. "I feel like this is the exact reason you have a _husband_ ," he says.

 

Nick's expression is bland. "In the uncle handbook. Not my problem if you didn't read it."

 

Bucky collapses Isobel's stroller expertly and both he and Nick take out a large diaper bag, a box of toys, the stroller and a container or two of leftovers.

 

He catches Nick giving him a sideways glance as they load things into his car on the street.

 

"What?" Bucky asks.

 

Nick smirks. "Nothing. Just--" he chuckles and slaps Bucky on the back. "Not bad, bro."

 

Bucky grins. "Thanks, man."

 

It's as much as Nick would ever say, so it's nice some things are just normal.

 

When Bucky re-enters the house, he finds Rebecca giving Steve a one-armed hug as she holds a sleeping Isobel. They exchange a few quiet words, before she does the rounds of saying goodbye to everyone else. Nick shakes Steve's hand, saying goodbye to all the in-laws before picking up a fidgety, almost-asleep Robert from the couch.

 

Bucky goes to see them off at the door. Rebecca gives him a kiss on the cheek.

 

"All things considered, I think that went remarkably well," she grins.

 

"Well, nobody crash-tackled him or fainted? I count it as a win."

 

Rebecca laughs lightly, before squeezing his hand. "Way to go, big brother. I like him."

 

"As if you wouldn't," he teases.

 

Rebecca gets an oddly serious look to her face. "Hey, he could be Captain America or a substitute gym teacher from Queens. As long as he keeps making you smile like that; I like him."

 

He can't see it, but he can _feel_ the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Wow, that's embarrassing," he admits.

 

"It's the truth," she says brightly, spinning on her heels. Winifred comes out as Bucky is waving them off.

 

"Are you and Steve going to stay for a little longer?" she asks, linking her arm with his.

 

"I think so. But we're both working tomorrow so maybe no more than an hour."

 

They re-enter the house and Winifred closes the door behind them. Making their way back into the sitting room, she clears her throat dramatically. It's amazing how five sets of eyes snap to her immediately.

 

"Would anyone else like another round of coffee and donuts?"

 

The affirmative consensus is vocal, and so Winifred heads back into the kitchen, this time with Abigail as her assistant. George excuses himself, so Steve's left in the room with Bucky and Grace.

 

Grace stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do with herself, and Bucky hates seeing that indecision in his normally confident sister, in her own home, no less.

 

And then Bucky has a brainstorm.

 

"Hey, Gracie," he says with a smile. Grace looks up with trepidation. Bucky strolls back over to the hearth, gesturing to the seat across from Steve that was recently vacated by his father. She moves to take it, crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap. "Did you know Steve's favourite ride at Coney is the _Fun Wheel_?"

 

And that's all it takes for that nervous edge around his youngest sister to disappear. In fact, she lights up for a second, before tamping it down. "Really?" her smile gets larger as Steve nods. "It's mine, too. Ever since I was little."

 

"I'm a more recent convert," Steve admits. "I used to be more of a fan of the _Cyclone_ , even though it made me a bit sick. Loved the thrill of it. Now I find I enjoy the _Fun Wheel_ more."

 

"Why do you think that is?" Grace asks, and Bucky can see her genuine curiosity, even if she asks the question like she's interviewing him.

 

Steve gives a cute, bashful shrug. "When I was younger, I think I needed the adrenalin rush. Now..." he gives a little smile, "not so much." Steve sits back a little and interlaces his fingers with Bucky's. "When I went back there with your brother a few months ago, it was my first time riding it. The view of Brooklyn was so nice, especially at night."

 

"I have a _very_ different memory of that ride... I didn't know you were paying that much attention to Brooklyn, Steve," Bucky states.

 

He's not sure he's seen Steve's neck turn so red so fast. Grace's eyes go wide and she covers her mouth with her hand.

 

Steve bumps him none-too-gently in the shoulder, but Bucky was already tipping to the side in laughter. "Way to embarrass me in front of your sister, Buck," Steve gripes, still looking mildly mortified.

 

Grace's shoulders shake a little with laughter. "Oh, you should've seen him when I was in high school. He walked to the gym between me and my date at my junior prom, and the whole school was watching."

 

Bucky shrugs. "I was just doing what I was told. I regret nothing."

 

Grace points a finger at him. "Mom's exact words were 'Drive Grace to the prom', not 'escort her to the door and then hang around for the first ten minutes like a big freak to make sure I wasn't getting felt up'."

 

Steve gives Bucky a wide-eyed look, before turning to Grace. "He didn't."

 

"He _did_ ," Grace counters. "The things Bucky did to embarrass me when I was in school were innumerable."

 

"Me, too," Abigail pipes up, holding a tray. They take coffees, and she pops the tray on the nearby side table before dragging over a dining chair to sit with them.

 

"Clearly, you have to tell me everything," Steve says, nodding gravely.

 

Grace smiles, and Bucky notes the awkward, nervous edge to it is gone. "Okay, so one time he was helping chaperone a field trip to the museum?"

 

"Mom asked me to help," Bucky explains, "the girls went to the same school she teaches at, I'd already graduated and they were short some adults."

 

"Oh, we were _still_ short adults, even with you there, Buck."

 

"Ha ha."

 

" _Anyway_ ," Grace continues, "there were these kids in my class who kept jumping into the dioramas and pushing each other around. Bucky took them aside and told them that if they messed up and disturbed our class one more time, he'd turn them inside-out and hang them in the Neanderthal exhibit."

 

Steve and Abigail laugh, and Bucky doesn't mind being the butt of their jokes if it gets them loosened up. For his part, Steve is completely enraptured listening to Abigail and Grace completely assassinate Bucky's cool.

 

"I have a good one," Abigail says, crossing her legs and leaning forward. Steve leans towards her imperceptibly. "So my best friend in middle school -- Kristy -- had a _mad_ crush on Bucky. Whenever she would come over, she'd get so tongue-tied she couldn't even speak around him. She also used to slide notes under his bedroom door from a 'secret admirer'."

 

Bucky puts his face in his hands. "Oh, I'd forgotten about that. They always smelled of fruit lipgloss, and every 'I' was dotted with a heart."

 

"What did they say?" Steve asks, the grin on his face ridiculous.

 

"Uhmm... they talked about my eyes a lot? How the were penetrating and she felt they could see right through her and... something. Damn, I forget. One said I had a 'cute butt' when I bent over."

 

Steve laughs, and pulls Bucky closer to his side. He leans in and presses his nose cutely against Bucky's cheek. "I agree," Steve murmurs in a voice pitched low enough he wouldn't be heard by the girls.

 

The girls regale Steve with stories of Bucky from when he was growing up... Abigail loads Facebook and starts showing Steve some truly woeful photos from high school that he's been tagged in.

 

"Buck, is that... is that _eyeliner?_ " Steve asks, pointing to the screen of Abigail's phone, and Bucky suddenly thinks that maybe this isn't such a good idea.

 

"I plead the fifth. Also, it was 2005."

 

"What does that even mean?" Steve wonders.

 

"It means _shut up_ , is what it means," Bucky bites back, trying to stifle a smirk.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Nice comeback, Oscar Wilde."

 

Steve's retort shocks a laugh out of Abigail and Grace.

 

"If it was good enough for Bowie, it was good enough for me," Bucky replies.

 

"Charlie Chaplin, too," Steve puts in.

 

The girls look wide-eyed to Steve and then Bucky. "You see what I have to put up with?" Bucky gripes, and Steve slips an arm around his waist. "Unrepentant smart-ass," he says, but his tone can't even mask the fondness even a little bit. Steve grins at him, eyes twinkling, and leans in for a gentle kiss.

 

Abigail shakes her head. "It's killing me not to take photos of you being cute as shit, you know," she says.

 

Bucky smiles a little, and Steve interlaces their fingers. He's about to answer when Steve does it for him.

 

"Not tonight. But maybe... maybe in the future sometime. Proper photos, not just snaps."

 

Bucky looks at Steve with an arched brow. "Yeah?" he asks.

 

" _Really_?" Abigail says, sitting forward in her seat. "Like a photoshoot?" Bucky looks to Steve, who is just as curious as Abigail is about where this is going.

 

"Yes," he turns to Bucky. "It would be nice to have a photo or two that's not a selfie on a phone. And Abi's really talented, from what I've seen, and she's trustworthy..." Steve shrugs. "I don't know, it's an idea I just had." Steve turns back to Abigail. "I'd pay you, of course."

 

"Oh my god, you will _not._ I would love to do this for you!"

 

"I don't want to take advantage."

 

"Just. Just shut up. I'm doing photos for you," Abigail answers. "Don't argue with me."

 

Steve blinks deliberately, and then gives a little smile. "You're definitely related to Bucky."

 

"You're welcome," Bucky adds, and they all laugh. Abigail shakes her head, and Grace smooths the skirt out on her lap, expression bemused.

 

Steve turns towards Grace and looks at her guilelessly, and Bucky knows the effect those baby blues have.

 

"I hope you don't mind, Gracie, I-- am I permitted to call you 'Gracie'?"

 

She nods her head effusively, eyes glowing. Because Steve's old-world politeness could sink a thousand ships. Steve gives her a sweet, warm smile. "I know that your fashion and aesthetic sense is a little different, but... you _sit_ differently, too."

 

Grace sits up a little straighter and she gives him an enigmatic smile. "What do you mean?"

 

"You sit with shoulders back, hands in your lap, ankles crossed and to the side... it's uncommon nowadays. At least to my observations."

 

Her cheeks colour even as her smile grows. Grace pushes a curl of dark hair past her ear. "I suppose Bucky's told you a little of what I'm working on at the university?"

 

Steve nods. "He's given me a bit of an outline, but I'd like to hear more about it from _you_ , if you don't mind."

 

Grace looks taken aback for a moment, and glances at Bucky. Bucky shrugs, inclining his head towards Steve. She had been schooling herself not to ask Steve questions about the past, but obviously wasn't expecting Steve to start asking _her_ things. Grace looks to Steve again, who is exercising his premier ability to appear warm and non-threatening. It seems she sees something in his face that loosens her tongue.

 

She clears her throat. "I do a lot of work on women in the twentieth century and," she swallows nervously, "Peggy Carter." Grace pauses and watches Steve, gauging as to whether to continue. Steve doesn't flinch or look uncomfortable. He nods and waits patiently for her to continue, so she does. "When I first started researching, back when I was in high school, I wanted to understand a little more what it meant to be a woman growing up in the thirties or forties, and what was expected of them... so I begged my mom to sign me up for a deportment class."

 

Steve's eyebrows rise in surprise. Grace gives a little smile at the reaction. "I went into it with a research mindset, thinking it was just going to be useless information about about balancing books on your head and how to sit and what fork to use, but it covered a lot more than I expected: Grooming, social etiquette, speech and conversation... It actually helped me out a lot. I used to dread public speaking at school, now I've given multiple presentations in front of full lecture halls at university without really worrying about it too much. And some of the styling and grooming choices just really appealed to me, and I kept them.

 

"Based on what my grandma talked about, I had the idea that it was going to be really old-fashioned and out of date, but after seeing what passes for civilised behaviour these days, I think it should be mandatory in schools."

 

"Amen," says Abigail.

 

Steve gives a wry grin. "So _you're_ the hard-line Barnes. I'd wondered who was."

 

Bucky makes an incredulous noise. For fuck's sake, he was in the _Army._ "Hey, I'm sitting _right here_ ," he protests.

 

"You let a kitten sleep on your face," Steve counters matter-of-factly.

 

"I'm not the only one," Bucky returns. "Don't try and use love of Babushka against me, for I have photographic proof, and you will lose." He reaches into his back pocket for his phone.

 

Steve's eyes shift to it immediately. "I want to hear more about Gracie's field of study," he backpedals quickly.

 

Grace holds up her hand, palm out. "Actually, I want to see the proof," she says, sitting forward in her seat. Bucky grins, because now she's acting like his sister and not a researcher.

 

"Do not leave me out of this," Abigail says, making grabby hands for Bucky's phone.

 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Steve sits back. "I will not be shamed. Do your worst."

 

"You asked for it," Bucky says. He flicks to a particular photo and shows his sisters. They both gasp. Grace's hands fly to her mouth to cover it, and Abigail snatches his phone.

 

It's a photo of Steve having a nap on his sofa while recovering from his broken ankle. It's pretty average, save for Babushka, who is quite literally spooning Steve's blond head.

 

"Oh my God," Abigail wheezes. "That's amazing."

 

"That is unfairly adorable," Grace sighs.

 

Bucky shows Steve the photo and despite his 'no shame' comment, his cheeks go a little pink. "I haven't seen this picture."

 

"Pal, if my phone ever fell into the hands of the press, they'd be calling you 'Captain Kitten-Face' in no time."

 

Abigail sits up straighter at that comment. "Steve, d'you mind if I ask you a question about social media? It's kind of my thing."

 

Steve partitions his embarrassment away and drapes his arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Go ahead," he says.

 

"Lots of celebrities or people of note have a Facebook or a Twitter account... have you ever considered it?"

 

Steve screws up his nose a little in distaste. "I've done a little investigating, but I'm just not sure it's for me."

 

"Why is that?"

 

He pauses to consider his answer, and Bucky rests a hand on his thigh, rubbing absently. "It's less about what I put up there and more about what other people put up. It seems nearly impossible to be out in your daily life and go about your business without someone pointing a phone at you to take a photo and post it later."

 

Abigail nods. "I understand that... but to present a counter-point, if you had your own account, you have control over content. You could put out things that _you_ want the public to see. And who knows, maybe they'd prefer that?" She gestures to the phone in her hand. "This is social media gold. I mean, I completely understand why you might not necessarily want to put _this_ specific image up, as it's quite private," she adds quickly, "but even something similar of you playing with Babushka would be so great for you fans."

 

"Why do you think that?" Steve asks seriously.

 

Abigail places her coffee mug down on the side table. "I gather from the limited information I've seen about you since you emerged on the scene again, that you're pretty private. There's nothing wrong with that at all, but in a way, privacy breeds mystery. The more you keep hidden, the more people want to dig. I think a lot of celebrities have Twitter so they can talk about things -- even release statements -- on their own terms. It allows them to control to some extent how they're seen.

 

"And putting up a cute photo of you doing something very ordinary like playing with a kitten could show that you're also a person as well as a symbol. It could breed empathy with your fanbase. If you outright stated to them you're not fond of having photos taken while you're heading to the market, they might listen to you and take your wishes into account."

 

"There is such a thing as 'online etiquette' in this day and age," Grace adds, looking to Abigail for confirmation, who nods. "So many people are removed from the concept that anyone famous is a 'real person' as well, especially if they don't have any contact with their fans." She flicks a glance to Bucky as she says this, and Bucky smiles encouragingly at her, because it sounds as though their discussion before dinner has struck a chord. "But you do have a loyal following of fans here and around the world, Grace continues, "if your wishes came directly from you, it's entirely likely that they'd hold a lot more weight."

 

Steve's frown slowly melts away. "I hadn't considered that," he admits.

 

"It's something to think about, at least," Abigail says, handing back Bucky's phone. "If you had any questions, or ever decided to set something up, I'd be happy to help."

 

"Thank you," Steve says sincerely, "you've given me a few more things to think about."

 

"No problem," Abigail says with a bright smile.

 

"James, honey," Winifred pokes her head into the room, "would you like some more coffee?"

 

Bucky thinks about it, before answering in the negative. "I have work tomorrow, so I probably need to sleep at some stage."

 

Steve looks to him. "Do you need to do anything to prepare for tomorrow?"

 

"Not really. Most of my files are at the office. What about you?"

 

"I'm heading into the Tower first thing."

 

It occurs to Bucky that it's just been him and Steve and his sisters for a while. "Hey, where have you and dad been, anyway?"

 

Winifred fully enters the sitting room. "Your father got distracted by ESPN, and I thought it might be nice for you kids to have some time to talk amongst yourselves. But to get back to the subject at hand... If you're both working tomorrow, do you need to make a move?" She smiles warmly. "Not that I'm trying to get rid of you, but both you boys probably need a good night's sleep."

 

Bucky looks to Steve, and he gives a little shrug. "It's up to you," he says, "I'm having a nice time, but I'll go with whatever you want."

 

He only takes a moment to ponder the choices. Critical thinking is a strong point of his. "Maybe should head off. It'll take me a little while to drive home, and I'm starting to get tired." Steve nods and stands, smoothing down his trousers.

 

Abigail and Grace look disappointed, and rise as well. Bucky folds Grace in a hug. "Hey, you'll see us another time. And you're overdue to come over and watch old movies with me, anyhow."

 

"Okay," Grace says, wrapping her arms around Bucky's torso. "I'll call you later in the week." He squeezes her for a moment longer, kissing her forehead.

 

Winifred tears George away from ESPN to say goodbye to Bucky and Steve as they make the rounds to say farewell. Steve kisses Abigail and Grace on the cheek as he bids them goodnight, and Bucky can see they're still slightly starstruck. But thankfully, not letting it hinder their reactions too much. Steve gets a warm handshake from George and a hug and a kiss from Winifred.

 

Everyone comes out onto the landing to see them off. His mom promises to bake an extra pie next time so they can go home with one, and Steve nods enthusiastically. They pile into Bucky's car, and wind the windows down as they back out. Steve waves cheerfully as Bucky gives a short, sharp toot of the horn when they drive off.

 

Steve sinks into the passenger seat and breathes out a sigh. Bucky flicks him a glance. "Hey, you survived," he says with a little grin.

 

Loosening his tie, Steve turns in his seat to face Bucky. "I actually think I did all right."

 

"Are you kidding? They loved you."

"Yeah?" Steve asks hopefully.

 

"Yeah. Shit, Steve, you got the 'call me Winnie' treatment within _minutes_. I think Nick was jealous."

 

He smirks at that, because deep down, Steve is a competitive little asshole. And Bucky likes that about him.

 

"Nick was really nice, so was Becca. In fact... everyone was great."

 

"I know. They're related to me," Bucky throws back. He interlaces the fingers of his right hand with Steve's left. "There was a little weirdness, because honestly, the last thing they were expecting was for me to bring... well... _you._ But we both knew that was going to happen. They actually did so much better than I thought they were going to, if truth be told."

 

Steve drums his fingertips on the back of Bucky's hand. "Do you think Gracie is going to be okay?"

 

"No doubt," Bucky says confidently. "That bit at the end there? Joking about the embarrassing things I did to her in school or the kitten photos... _that's_ my little sister. She just had to let go of being the researcher for a little while, which I know is easier said than done."

 

"I understand it must be hard for her to be confronted with me so suddenly," Steve says quietly, and there's so much concern in his voice that Bucky's heart bleeds a little.

 

"It was. I could see that, both as a brother and a psych major. But as her brother, I also know that she's got a good head on her shoulders, and she's going to be able to find a way to deal with the information. Talking to her tonight helped a lot, I think."

 

"She's real smart, Buck," he says softly.

 

"The PhD gave it away, did it?" Bucky grins proudly. Because Steve's talking about his baby sister, who is so clever, and so passionate about her work, and he still remembers when his mom brought her home from the hospital.

 

Steve is watching him, but Bucky can't take his eyes off the road. He eventually turns back to look out the windshield, but doesn't let go of Bucky's hand.

 

It's peacefully quiet for a while. Bucky thinks Steve is partly mentally and emotionally exhausted. As much as he probably wouldn't admit, and as much as he enjoyed the visit, it was taxing on him.

 

"Meanwhile, the yummy faces about my mom's cooking worked like a charm," Bucky comments out of the blue, and Steve laughs.

 

"If you've ever seen one of those forties movie reels of me, you know I'm not much of an actor. They were all genuine yummy faces," Steve chuckles.

 

And hearing Steve say 'yummy faces' is unintentionally hilarious. Bucky starts laughing, partially out of his own tiredness. Steve joins in.

 

It doesn't take them long to get back to Bucky's apartment. Despite the fact they're both working the next day, Bucky vetoes Steve riding back home on his motorcycle, and it's not as though Steve's arm needs a lot of twisting to spend another night there. He vows to get up early tomorrow, however, and return to his apartment for more clothes.

 

Babushka is happy to see them again, and Steve takes to coddling her while Bucky gets changed into his night gear. He's brushing his teeth when Steve calls out to him. "Bucky?"

 

Bucky spits into the sink. "Bathroom, Captain Kitten-Face."

 

Steve's head pops around the door, a frown on his face. "You're not really going to start calling me that, are you?"

 

" _Probably_ not. But I make no promises," Bucky says as he rinses out his toothbrush. "Did you need something?"

 

Steve steps into the bathroom and Bucky notices he too is in his sleepwear. "I was wondering if you saw my spare pair of underwear. The red ones? I can't find them."

 

"Not that I recall." Bucky meets Steve's eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "Didn't get mixed up with mine, did they?"

 

"Don't think so." He shrugs. "Not really important, I still have the black pair." He purposefully crowds Bucky against the sink as he reaches across to get his toothbrush.

 

"Steve Rogers: Aggressive Spooner," Bucky remarks.

 

"Damn right," he replies. Bucky kisses him on the cheek at the same time as pinching his ass as he leaves the bathroom to the sound of Steve's protests.

 

It's only hit him now how tired _he_ is after the day's and evening's events. In all honesty, Bucky can't believe the dinner went as well as it did. His family's reactions weren't too over-the-top, Steve didn't freak out or feel interrogated, he charmed them silly without even trying, and Bucky got to spend time with all his nearest and dearest. It was a winning scenario.

 

Bucky grabs his phone to set his alarm. Thankfully, his start is a little later tomorrow, so there'll be a bit more sleep to be had. However, Steve's probably intending to get up at the ass-crack of dawn.

 

There are also unread messages on his phone from his sisters.

 

_Rebecca: Bobby woke up as we were putting him to bed and wouldn't stop talking about 'Steeb' playing trucks with him. He's made a tiny fan! Nice work, big brother. I hope you realise this means I'm going to be checking up on you more often._

_Rebecca: Also Nick was pretty cool on the night, but he wants Steve to come over and watch the game one afternoon. All the way home he kept asking if you think he'd be interested. I think he has a bro-crush._

Bucky starts laughing. Nick is good people, and he resolves to ask Steve about it later.

 

There are more messages, though, and Bucky flicks to those.

_Abigail: Because I couldn’t do it in front of mom and dad... HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS, BUCK. I can't believe we had dinner with Captain America. I can't believe you're dating Captain America-- sorry. Steve. I can't believe he wants me to take photos of you guys. Just say the word, and we'll do it. Steve is so awesome. You'd better be tapping that._

 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but that's pure Abigail.

_Grace: I feel like I owe you and Steve an apology for tonight. I'm sorry if I was a bit funny, you really caught me by surprise. No more surprises, Bucky! Having said that... wow. He is nothing and everything like I expected. I'm still processing. Listening to him over dinner, talking with him after dessert... I get it. I get what you were saying, and I want you to know I'm going to try very hard not to let one thing interfere with the other._

_Grace: I also want you to know that Steve, your boyfriend, is a delight. I'm so happy to have met him. You look wonderful together, I'm thrilled for you xo_

_I'll call you later in the week to catch up, I miss you._

Bucky resolves to reply to all of them tomorrow, he just can't quite bring himself to muster up the energy right this second.

 

There's a noise at his door, and Bucky looks up. Steve's finished in the bathroom. His hair's ruffled out of the carefully combed style it had been in, sleep clothes are soft and worn in, feet are bare, Babushka is in his arms.

 

"You're not even pretending to put her in her own bed?" Bucky asks, putting his phone to the side.

 

"She's just going to end up in here anyway," Steve says. Babushka meows.

 

He walks over and places Babushka at the end of the bed, while he moves up the side and slips beneath the covers. Steve doesn't hesitate in plastering his body to Bucky's side, putting his head on Bucky's shoulder and wrapping arms around his waist.

 

"The results are in," Bucky says, chucking a thumb towards his phone, "the sisters and brother all like you."

 

There is palpable relief on Steve's face. "That's great, I'm glad. I really liked them, too."

 

"I don't have to kill you, then," Bucky jokes.

 

Steve's eyes dip and he looks pensive for a moment. "What about your parents? About your dad?"

 

Bucky finger-combs Steve's hair. "I haven't heard from them, but based on your interactions, you were a hit. You ate all my mom's dinner and listened to my dad's engineering stories, that automatically gives you so much extra credit, you have no idea."

 

Steve exhales noisily. "I hope so."

 

Bucky cups Steve's jaw with one hand. "Are you okay, though? Did you have a good time? I know they can be a little overwhelming sometimes -- and a little handsy -- but it looked like you were handling it pretty well. Bobby apparently wants to play trucks with you again."

 

"I had the best time," Steve admits. "It's been a long time since I was in a family situation, and I'm embarrassed to say, I'd forgotten how nice it could be." He turns to press a kiss on the palm of Bucky's hand. "They really love you, Buck. Thank you for letting me be a part of that."

 

"No problem," Bucky murmurs, leaning down to touch his lips to Steve's. He tastes like mint toothpaste and smells like soap. It's singularly attractive.

 

Steve's hands roam his back and go so far as to rest on the swell of his ass, and while Bucky would absolutely fucking _love_ to do something further tonight, it's just not the right time. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is utterly exhausted now. Steve's also had a good -- but emotionally trying -- night, and needs rest. Hardly seems like fun if they're both too tired to appreciate it.

 

Babushka, best cockblock in the business, chooses this moment to walk up the dips and curves of Steve's body, wishing to take her place at pillow height, meowing pitifully.

 

Steve pulls away from Bucky, a flush high on his cheeks, eyes dark, lips swollen. Bucky can't help pressing another kiss to them, they're so lush.

 

"You need sleep?" he croaks.

 

"Kind of, yeah. You do, too. Early start tomorrow," he counters, skimming his fingers over Steve's face. Babushka meows again.

 

Steve stretches up to kiss Bucky once more, before making a circular motion with his finger. "Little spoon it," he says.

 

Bucky smiles and turns over, facing his nightstand. He flicks the lamp off as Steve moves to slot behind him, arm draping across his waist. He can feel Babushka padding around, to curl up in a ball just above his head.

 

It's warm and comfortable and relaxing, so of course just as Bucky's nodding off, Steve speaks. "Tonight was good," Steve murmurs right next to his ear."

 

"Mhm," Bucky agrees.

 

"Maybe you can meet the rest of my family soon?" he asks. "There's only Clint and Bruce and Thor to go."

 

Bucky's gotten too sleepy to really have the words sink in that Steve wants him to meet the rest of the Avengers. "Yeah, sure. Whatever," he yawns around the 'whatever' widely.  


"We could play the breadstick game with them," Steve suggests, fingers drumming on Bucky's stomach.

 

Bucky frowns. "Um, sure." He pauses. "Goodnight, Steve."

 

Steve nuzzles the back of his ear and it's silent for a few moments.

  
"I wonder if Thor or the Hulk can snap more breadsticks than me," Steve ponders.

 

Bucky's created a monster. "Oh my god, Steve, shut up. I want to sleep."

 

He feels Steve's lips curve into a smile right behind his left ear. "Roger that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you note any mistakes that have somehow slipped either mine or Sarah's grasp, please let me know. I reward it. Seriously.  
> Likewise, i'd love to hear from you about... anything. Really. Your comments give me liiiife.  
> If you want to talk to me about anything, my tumblr is [here](http://fannishflightsoffancy.tumblr.com)
> 
> Random notes:
> 
> * Nick and Grace are vaguely based off people I know IRL. Hi, people. Then again, so is Denise, but she wasn't in this chapter. 
> 
> * Steve's not had too many male role models in his life, he was/is very concerned with making a good impression on Bucky's dad. 
> 
> * Moms are his jam, though. Can you tell?
> 
> * Steve's now officially in the breadstick in-joke, much to everyone else's despair. Especially Nick and Bucky. 
> 
> * So all Barnes siblings are fierce in their own way. There are no shrinking violets. Bucky is the fierce carer. Becca is the fierce mom. Abi is the fierce modern woman. Grace is the fierce academic.
> 
> Picture references!
> 
> Bucky riding Steve's motorcycle:
> 
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> 
> Steve's outfit to meet the family (only blonder, and cleanshaven):
> 
>  
> 
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> 
> Bucky's outfit:
> 
> The Barnes house:


	11. Dating (week 11)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Mid-Week Date Night  
> * The One Where Bucky's Late For Work  
> * The One Where Steve Meets Denise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo you guys. Thanks for indulging me on quite a big break! Most of august was spent with my fabulous bestie (the one who tirelessly edits everything I do) visiting me here in Australia, and we had an amazing time together! Since she got back I've been writing a lot, and the result is this extremely long chapter, which is close to 20k long. I nearly posted sections before I was finished, but really wanted to present these 3 parts together, as they're all interconnected. 
> 
> I'm way behind on replying to comments, but i have READ EVERY SINGLE ONE, THANK YOU SO MUCH. They truly inspire me to continue, and I'm so grateful you take the time out to do so. Stucky fandom is the best, you know. 
> 
> One small note. Way back in ch 3 (The One Where Size Does Matter) I referenced Steve's apartment being in Red Hook. That was a decision i wanted to rewrite because I've done a bit more thinking about where Steve lives in relation to Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Bucky, and I've since changed it to Brooklyn Heights. I don't normally like re-editing details like that, but it's a pretty minor thing as far as my story goes, and i'd rather deal with this now than later. So, slight detail, won't affect your enjoyment of the story, I don't think. Enjoy!

**Dating (wk 11)**

**The One With The Mid-Week Date Night**

**( _Location: East Village / Steve's apartment_ )**

 

Bucky goes back to work Monday morning. Normally he'd get Monday and sometimes Tuesday off depending on his weekend schedule, but his workload continues to increase due to the other outreach's closure.

 

Denise says he doesn't have to take more days because that's not what's in his contract, but realistically, they have more kids than the rest of the staff can handle. Bucky doesn't feel right about not pulling his weight, and so he takes up additional hours.

 

On Tuesday morning Steve texts him and asks if he'd like to go to dinner that evening. Bucky initially says yes, but has to pull out later. Some parents he's needed to catch up with about one of his kids can only meet him today, after hours. Reluctantly, he texts Steve and tells him he's not going to be able to make it. Unperturbed, Steve asks if he's free Wednesday, instead.

 

So Wednesday finds Bucky desperately trying to finish his paperwork to be able to get home in time. Steve hasn't mentioned where they're going, only telling Bucky that he's going to get picked up at six-thirty, and to 'dress nice'.

 

"Dress nice," Bucky mutters as he catches the train home, willing his station to be next. What the hell does 'dress nice' mean in Steve Rogerese? He texts, trying to wheedle more information out of his boyfriend.

 

_Bucky: Nice could mean so many things. Nice for a restaurant and nice for party on the town are two completely different things._

_Steve: :)_

_Bucky: Supremely unhelpful._

_Steve: See you at 1830._

 

Bucky ends up getting home a little after six. Knowing Steve's penchant for punctuality, he doesn't have much time. Diving into the shower, Bucky washes himself quickly. He finishes drying and stands at his wardrobe with the doors open, towel around his hips, trying to decide on what to wear. Babushka circles antsily around his ankles.

 

The weather's just starting to get cooler, and Bucky's feeling it, so he decides on a navy blue sweater underneath a reconditioned brown leather jacket he bought from army surplus between deployments. He loves it because it's old and soft and worn-in to perfection. Teamed with a pair of dark trousers and a grey scarf, he's ready to go.

 

Bucky's just finished styling his hair and is about to give his jaw a quick shave when the doorbell sounds, exactly on six-thirty.

 

He sighs and puts down his electric shaver, the anally retentive part of himself annoyed he can't finish his task so close to completion. Answer the door first, shave after.

 

Bucky gives himself one last quick once-over in the bathroom mirror, before heading out to his living room.

 

He opens the door to Steve holding a bouquet of flowers. Bucky can't help the grin that alights on his face.

 

Steve smiles in return. "Hey, Buck," he greets warmly, holding the flowers to him.

 

"Hi," he returns. Bucky takes the proffered flowers and moves aside from the doorway to let Steve in. Steve steps through and shuts the door behind him, before cupping Bucky's face and kissing him sweetly on the lips.

 

Bucky allows it, although Steve's quick entry has trapped the flowers between their bodies. He doesn't say no to the kiss, but pushes Steve away after a second. "I haven't shaved yet, and you're crushing my flowers."

 

"You don't need to shave," Steve murmurs, rubbing his lips against Bucky's stubbly jaw, "and I can always get you more flowers." It's beyond stupid how much Steve's easy affection douses any disquiet he feels.

 

Bucky shakes his head, even as he allows another kiss, slightly longer than the first. "No, I don't want you to ruin the first ones I've ever gotten."

 

Steve rears back for a moment. "Nobody's ever given you flowers before?"

 

"I think I got a rose on Valentine's Day once? But no, not like this. I mean... guys usually aren't the recipients of bouquets, in my experience." Bucky smells them. They have a nice scent without being too cloying. "What are they, anyway?"

 

Steve's hand rests on the side of Bucky's neck. It should be too heavy and just too restrictive, but it's not. It makes Bucky inexplicably happy. "They're hyacinths," Steve answers, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin behind Bucky's ear, the side of the digit deliberately scraping his stubble. "Only blooming for another month and then you won't see them until April next year."

 

Because of course Steve knows that. Steve is here after a long day, in a grey shirt and blue leather jacket and trousers, and his eyes are practically glowing with mischief, smelling amazing and giving him flowers before taking him out, and--

 

Bucky wraps both arms around Steve's shoulders, flowers dangling from his hands, and kisses Steve soundly. Steve responds immediately, arms encircling Bucky's waist and nearly lifting him up off the ground.

 

It's hard not to get too distracted by Steve's mouth, his hands. Steve breaks their kiss ultimately, pressing their foreheads together and -- to Bucky's amusement -- panting slightly.

 

"Don't mistake this for a complaint, but what was that for?" he asks.

 

Bucky sighs gustily. "I've had a really big couple of days," he admits.

 

Steve catches his eyes. "Do you still feel like going out? I know you work tomorrow... if it's just too much--"

 

"You planned stuff, I want to do it," Bucky cuts him off, pressing a quick kiss to Steve's lips. "But first, I have to find something to put these in," he shakes the flowers gently, "and make sure Bushka has everything she needs."

 

As if mere mentions summon her into existence, Babushka appears from out of nowhere, purring and rubbing her cheek against Steve's shins. He dips down to scoop her up immediately. "Can I help?" Steve asks, fingers stroking the soft fur of Babushka's brow.

 

"If you can check her water and refill her food, you're a life-saver," Bucky replies. "I already looked at her litter tray, she's fine until tomorrow."

 

Steve flicks him a lazy salute, and Bucky is beyond amused at the response. "Captain America only accepts the best missions," he intones.

 

"Damn right," Steve grins.

 

It only takes a few minutes for them to each accomplish their tasks. Steve knows where all of Babushka's things are, and anyone who gets her food automatically has her complete and undivided attention. Bucky has time to ferret around in a back cupboard to find the vase his mother gave him years ago. Because apparently, she had the foresight to see into the future to the time when an old-fashioned, adorable asshole would buy him flowers and they'd need a home.

 

Bucky places the water-filled vase on his counter just as Steve puts Babushka's kibble away. They make eye contact and Steve raises an eyebrow. "Ready?"

 

"Let's do this," Bucky grins. He grabs his wallet and keys and gestures for Steve to exit first. Bucky locks up and Steve takes his hand immediately.

 

"So, are you going to tell me anything about what you have planned?" Bucky asks as they get to the ground floor of his building.

 

"You won't go hungry," Steve replies cryptically.

 

"I figured that..." Bucky tugs on his hand. He stops when they get to street level, looking for Steve's motorcycle. "I'll have you know it took me four precious minutes to style my hair, so appreciate it now before the helmet ruins it."

 

Steve gives him an indulgent smile. "No bike today."

 

Bucky raises one eyebrow. "Subway?" Steve shakes his head. "Walking?" Another shake. "You didn't tell me we were teleporting," he grins, before it falls away. " _Are_ we teleporting? I can keep a secret, you know, if it's hush-hush SHIELD tech--"

 

Steve's laughter cuts him off. "We're not teleporting. But points for imagination." He gestures to their left, and Bucky's eyes travel the street in confusion, skating over the line of cars parked at the curb. His gaze lingers on an exceptionally nice silver car not so far away, unusual because his neighbourhood isn't particularly well-known for its fancy rides.

 

He's not about to pay it too much mind until Steve pulls him towards it.

 

Bucky digs his heels in and brings them to a stop. "Steve, what's this?"

 

Steve gives him a charming grin. "This is your ride."

 

Bucky can't quite help his jaw falling open. "Is this your car?"

 

Opening the passenger door for Bucky, he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Borrowed from a friend."

 

"How many friends do you know who own an Aston Martin from, what... the 60's? I--" Bucky stops himself from speaking further, because he sounds like an idiot. Of _course_ Steve knows someone who would own this car. "I can't believe I even said that." He rolls his eyes.

 

Me neither, Buck," Steve grins as Bucky slips into the car. "You really had to ask?"

 

"Long day, remember?" Bucky gripes, watching as Steve jogs around to the driver's side. He slides into the seat and gives Bucky a beaming grin.

 

Bucky gets distracted by the impeccably-kept leather interior. "This car is something else. Am I right about the 60's?"

 

"1963," Steve confirms.

 

"It looks like something out of _James Bond_ ," Bucky remarks.

 

" _Goldfinger,_ " Steve supplies. "Or so I'm told."

 

Bucky's eyes go the size of dinner plates. " _Fuck off_ ," he spits. "This is Bond's actual _car_?"

 

"Howard acquired it in the 80s, so Tony tells me. I wanted to borrow a nice car for tonight, and he made some crack about me being able to drive this one."

 

Bucky waves his hands exuberantly. "Back up to the part where I'm sitting in a car that's held Howard Stark and Sean Connery. Also maybe Pussy Galore."

 

"Don't forget James Barnes," Steve puts in, squeezing Bucky's thigh before buckling himself in.

 

" _And_ Steve Rogers," Bucky adds, looking around at the interior. Steve starts the engine, checks his mirrors, and pulls away from the curb.

 

Bucky takes a more critical look at the interior of the car. "Come to think of it... given its ownership history... I do _not_ want to be shining a blacklight in this thing. It's probably seen some action."

 

"Wow, that's... incredibly graphic, Buck," Steve blanches.

 

"You brought hand sanitiser, right?"

 

"It's something I'm borrowing off Tony, of course I did."

 

They both laugh as Steve drives. Bucky settles back into the seat with a sigh and appreciates being a passenger. The subway burnt him a little today. It was crowded and stank, made worse by the fact he was in a hurry.

 

"Enjoying the ride, huh?" Steve asks after flicking him a quick glance.

 

"Mhm," Bucky sighs and shimmies his shoulders comfortably into his chair. "I don't know what it is about New York City subways that scream 'toilet' to some people."

 

"If it's any consolation, that hasn't changed so much since the last century," Steve remarks.

 

"Great. So either they haven't cleaned the trains since the forties, or human beings are still disgusting."

 

"Maybe it's a little of both. It's amazing to be able to step onto a train, take a deep breath, and feel like nothing's changed," Steve says. "And by 'amazing', I clearly mean 'horrendous'."

 

They share another laugh that tapers off, but the smile remains on Bucky's face. Steve flicks him a quick glance. "Well, if you want a bit of quiet time before we reach our destination--"

 

"--which is..?" Bucky queries curiously.

 

Steve doesn't address his query, only smiles politely and continues as though he hadn't been interrupted. "--I don't mind if you put the seat back, or even listen to some music. Take some time to relax, if you need to."

 

They share a smile with each other, and Steve lets go of the gear shift momentarily to brush the back of Bucky's hand, before they fall into a companionable silence.

 

Bucky watches the street lights and other cars go by, listening to Steve hum off-key, and takes a few moments to really appreciate the man next to him.

 

Steve knows Bucky's decently extroverted. That it helps with his work, and he draws comfort and energy from being around people a lot of the time.

 

But...

 

Especially since coming back from active duty, Bucky's needed more time for self-possession, for decompression from work, or just a little bit of mental quiet. It doesn't necessarily mean he needs or wants to be _alone_ \-- hell, he'd gladly share a space with someone he likes or trusts -- it just means he needs some literal quiet time to re-centre himself.

 

It's something that Steve seems to have instinctively picked up on over their months of dating, without Bucky ever really having to ask for it. He's prone to babbling when anxious, but doesn't have the desire to fill every silence with chatter. He's more than happy to quietly cuddle, or even go about his own tasks if they're sharing a space, allowing Bucky companionship without feeling obligated to speak or be stifled.

 

It's... really fucking awesome.

 

Bucky moulds his body further into the soft leather of the car seat and idly stares out the windshield. He breathes slowly, and his mind stops thinking about work and starts to casually try and figure out where Steve might be taking him. They're heading further north into Brooklyn, but Bucky doesn't really make any indication he's paying too much attention until Steve drives across the bridge and into lower Manhattan.

 

The curiosity is building, and if it were anyone else deeming fit to drive Bucky all across Creation after a long day of work and with another expected tomorrow, he'd probably be grouchier, or protest more.

 

But it's Steve, and Steve's obviously been putting thought into their plans, so he forbears. He's _still_ not a huge fan of surprises, but Bucky's placing a lot of trust in Steve that their undisclosed location won't be something he'll dislike.

 

The streets of the East Village start to become a familiar sight to Bucky, and he cocks an eyebrow trying to parse out where they might be headed. He takes to staring openly at Steve, but Steve is either preoccupied with his direction of travel, or ignoring him. Eventually, when he can, Steve pulls over in the first available space on the street.

 

Bucky nods as he unbuckles his seatbelt, impressed. "Finding a parking space in the East Village without resorting to black magic... that's a pretty mean feat."

 

"Well, I'm _kind_ of a big deal," Steve remarks solemnly, though Bucky knows better than to believe that Steve thinks of _himself_ so highly. "Although we're a couple of blocks out from our destination."

 

"Who doesn't walk in New York City?" Buck says as he gets out of the car. They both make it onto the curb, Bucky adjusting his scarf at the slight breeze in the air. "Besides, _clearly_ the most interesting thing of all is the fact that you remember how to drive stick."

 

"Lucky for you," Steve quips, straightening out Bucky's jacket collar.

 

Bucky's eyes widen. "Was that innuendo? Or a commentary on not becoming a traffic fatality?"

 

Steve's eyes sparkle with bemusement. "Why not both?" he murmurs, leaning forward to brush their lips together briefly.

 

It's barely a kiss, but still makes Bucky's toes curl. "You are my favourite kind of smartass," he grins.

 

"Lucky for me," Steve grins. They stare at each other for a moment, and it's just quiet, it's just them, and Bucky's not sure he's ever even really _looked_ at another human being like he's looking at Steve...

 

Steve's insanely long eyelashes flutter down for a moment. "Let's go," Steve urges, clearing his throat and inclining his head up the path. "Don't want to be late."

 

They don't hold hands, but they're close enough for their shoulders to touch ever few steps. Bucky and Steve walk for about a block he can't quite hold it in any longer.

 

"So any hints on what's going to happen tonight?"

 

Steve gives him a sidelong glance. "We're nearly there and you want me to spoil it _now_?"

 

"Mainly I just want to confirm that I'm going to be getting fed soon. I had lunch at eleven, and it's nearly seven-thirty."

 

"It is? We'd better hurry, then!" Steve grabs his hand and starts jogging, pulling him along the sidewalk. Bucky laughs and does his best not to trip over his feet.

 

Steve slows down and drops his hand, but slings an arm around the back of Bucky and squeezes his shoulders together briefly. "One more block," he murmurs, hot breath ghosting Bucky's ear.

 

Bucky smiles, but then quickly changes his expression to something stern. "Just because you're cute," he says, "I will wait a little longer."

 

"I appreciate your patience," Steve says.

 

They walk a little further before Steve stops in front of a cheerfully-painted red and yellow building, proclaiming _John's Restaurant + Pizza_ in red neon. He gives Bucky a little smile before opening the front glass door for them.

 

A dark-haired man with bushy eyebrows and wearing a crisp, white apron greets them at the door. Steve tells him he has a reservation under the name 'Steven Grant'. Bucky stifles his smirk as the man looks the information up in his book. Finding it, he escorts them through the restaurant towards the back.

 

Bucky finds himself looking around as they walk. It's a fairly narrow place, tables lining one wall and two-person booths in a mustard yellow down the other. The carpet is a bit garish and the fixtures a little antiquated, but there's a warm, homey atmosphere to the place, with its timber furniture and starched, white tablecloths.

 

In short, it's exactly the kind of place Bucky would expect Steve to love.

 

They are seated in the last two-person booth along the wall before the next section, which appears to be some kind of function room. Steve gestures for Bucky to sit in the chair that faces the doorway, and takes the one with his back to the majority of the room.

 

Bucky watches Steve cast a glance around, as though he's not necessarily comfortable in that position. "I can switch, if you'd rather be facing the room," Bucky says, moving to stand, but Steve gives him a smile and waves him down.

 

"We'll get more privacy this way, I think. Besides, I trust you to watch my back."

 

It's such a small thing, but it means a lot to Bucky. He reaches over and squeezes Steve's fingers across the table.

 

Another waiter comes over to hand out menus and put a carafe of water on their table. As they choose meals, a basket of bread with olive oil and parmesan cheese is also put before them.

 

It's not even hit the tablecloth before Bucky's grabbed a piece and taken a large bite. Steve looks scandalised.

 

"You try and wait so long without eating," Bucky says, waving his bread in Steve's direction, "I know for a fact you can't."

 

"And you give me shit about _my_ table manners..." Steve shakes his head, taking his own bread.

 

Bucky's so hungry he chooses the first thing that really catches his eye. Steve, it seems, may've already been acquainted with the menu, because he makes his decision fairly quickly, too.

 

The waiter comes back, and they order. When asked if they would be interested in wine, Steve looks to him expectantly. He shrugs. "I'm not driving," Bucky says, "I won't mind."

 

Steve asks for the waiter's recommendation for something that will complement their orders, and he suggests a particular bottle of red. Steve asks for one and hands their menus over cheerfully.

 

Bucky takes a few moments to look around the restaurant. It's Wednesday, so it's not busy, but there are still a few small parties scattered here and there. They don't seem to be paying too much attention, however, so that's nice.

 

"How'd you hear about this place?" Bucky asks.

 

"There's been a few times where I've been stuck at the Tower, and Ms P-- _Pepper_ \-- has ordered from John's," Steve explains. "I've also come here once before with Clint." He looks around, features soft. "It just feels _warm_ here, lived in... sure, it's not all modern, but sometimes I look at something purported to be 'modern' and it just feels 'sterile'."

 

Bucky smiles a little and brushes his hand across Steve's knuckles. "I know exactly what you mean."

 

Their waiter then returns with wine and pours them each a glass, before leaving the bottle on their table. Bucky and Steve each pick up their glasses and hold them out.

 

"To breaking the fast from eleven," Steve suggests as a toast. Bucky grins.

 

"To driving stick in James Bond's car," he returns. Steve laughs and they clink, before taking a sip.

 

Bucky takes a little more than a sip, a fact that doesn't escape Steve. He arches one brow. "Y'okay there, Buck?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky nods, putting his glass down. "It's fine, I won't go nuts. Just... needed it today."

 

Steve interlaces his fingers on the table in front of him. "Want to talk about it?"

 

"I don't know," Bucky winces, "I don't want to spoil our date."

 

"So get it out of your system now before we eat, and then don't bring it up again," Steve suggests diplomatically.

 

It would be nice to have a little vent. Maybe then he can relax and properly enjoy Steve's company. "Okay," Bucky says, "but I don't want this to be the only thing we talk about all night."

 

"It won't be. I'm incredibly shallow and am going to have to talk about me at some stage," Steve deadpans. Bucky gives him a nudge with his toe under the table, but then somehow just doesn't move his foot away from where it sits next to Steve's.

 

Bucky takes another fortifying sip from his wine glass, but it's not until Steve catches his eye and gently takes his hand to rubs his thumb along Bucky's knuckles, that he can bring himself to discuss work.

 

He tells Steve about how their staff has stayed the same, whereas their caseload has doubled -- and in some instances, tripled. Some of his groups are getting bigger, which means it's harder to spend time with the kids who need a little more encouragement in those group situations.

 

"I have this one girl that's been coming to some of my sessions -- Oksana -- she's a little younger than the kids I'd normally take, but she doesn't speak much English. Jarrod foisted her onto me because I have rudimentary Russian skills, as you know."

 

Steve gives a soft smile. "Rudimentary Russian baking skills, too," he offers.

 

"Damn right," Bucky agrees with a grin. It falls away as he takes up his story again. "Up until now I've been able to find a little bit of time for her in my group programs, and on some days, an hour after to help her with her English, help her adjust."

 

Bucky shakes his head bitterly. "I can't even spare her _half_ an hour outside my sessions, my shit's so tightly packed right now. Also she gets a little lost now that my groups are bigger, and I have to learn about all of the new cases. She's so much smaller than all these bigger kids..."

 

Steve frowns. "I don't think I've ever asked... how is your outreach funded?"

 

Bucky runs his fingers through his carefully-styled hair, clenching at his scalp to give the strands a tug. "The government will periodically throw a bit of money our way, but not nearly enough. Most of what keeps us functioning actually comes from donations. We get in touch with bigger businesses within the Burroughs to donate towards our programs. Some of the big corporations -- and they can be nation-wide -- will have grants we can apply for. They can be pretty lucrative if you get the right one."

 

"Relying on donations," Steve murmurs, "that has to be tough."

 

Bucky shrugs. "It can be. Denise is a bit of a wizard at getting money out of corporations, I have to say. She says 'tax write-off' and that tends to get them moving. But the applications and the hoops you need to jump through to get grant money can be pretty time-consuming. Writing proposals takes time away from writing programs, or working with her kids. So if she's stuck doing that, someone else has to pick up the slack for _her_ cases, and so and on and so forth."

 

"It's a lot more complex than I thought," Steve nods, brow creased.

 

"Don't I know it, pal." Bucky runs a finger around the edge of his wine glass. "The other outreach closed because they weren't as good as us at securing grants. But now we're under even more pressure with more kids coming to us, because they don't have anywhere else to go. More money would equal more staff to be able to cope."

 

"And you've been working more," Steve observes.

 

Bucky screws up his nose. "Yeah... I mean, I can't leave Dee in the lurch like this. Plus, if I don't, it's not me that misses out, it's the kids."

 

Steve's eyes look so warm in the yellow light of the restaurant. He tugs at Bucky's hand gently, which he's still holding, until it's in front of his mouth. Ever-so-gently, he brushes his lips across the brunet's knuckles. The hairs on Bucky's arms stand up on their end at the feather-soft contact.

 

"You're something else, Bucky Barnes," he says in an admiring, rich tone, which sends good feelings immediately to the pit of Bucky's stomach. Bucky can never understand how someone as amazing as Steve will look at him like he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. He has a healthy ego, to be sure, but when it comes down to it, Bucky considers himself a pretty regular guy. Steve is an _actual_ hero, and yet Bucky keeps catching the blond looking at him like _he_ is.

 

Bucky breaks eye contact with Steve as he sees their waiter approach with two plates. He gently disengages their hands, but not before pressing a digit gently to Steve's nose.

 

"Yeah; hungry."

 

Steve laughs heartily as their meals are put before them. They thank the waiter and stare down at their delicious food. Bucky ordered the homemade lasagne, while Steve went with the chicken parmigiana with spaghetti.

 

"But enough talk about my work, and indeed, enough talk, period," Bucky says, unable to take his eyes away from his lasagne.

 

"10-4, Sergeant," Steve says, picking up his knife and fork.

 

They heartily enjoy their meals. Bucky's embarrassed to say that he's famished enough that they don't make a whole lot of conversation until he's at least halfway through and the edge is taken off his hunger. After that point, he forces himself to eat a little slower, a scolding from Winifred ringing in his ears about gulping down his food too fast.

 

The waiter tops up their wine glasses as Bucky asks how Steve's been keeping busy.

 

"I thought we weren't going to talk about work," Steve says with an arched eyebrow.

 

"We've finished talking about _my_ work. You have to even it out a _little_ ," Bucky counters.

 

Steve rolls his eyes, but puts his fork down for a moment to wipe the corners of his mouth. "Since Geneva, the World Security Council has been going over protocols for big summits to try and prevent what occurred happening again. I've been revisiting my already extensive debriefing of the situation--" And he sounds about as happy doing that as someone would be to get a root canal "--and running through lots of scenario-based training exercises with some of the strike teams."

 

"That is absolutely riveting," Bucky says blandly.

 

"Rub it in, jerk," Steve replies, to Bucky's delighted laugh.

 

"You're so feisty when you're bored out of your fucking gourd." Bucky lays on the saccharine, and he can see Steve warring with the idea of flicking spaghetti at him.

 

"Yeah, well, I get a slight reprieve tomorrow. Starting at eleven, finishing at three." Bucky winces and Steve has the audacity to look smug.

 

"I'm upgrading you from 'feisty' to 'asshole'," Bucky sneers, but Steve looks unperturbed.

 

"You know why there's a big 'A' on my helmet, right?" Steve asks, and Bucky's really glad he doesn't happen to be eating or drinking anything at the time, because as it is, he nearly chokes on air.

 

"Oh my god," Bucky stutters out, and the waiter looks over to make sure he's not got something lodged in his throat. Bucky waves at them feebly, his laughter coming out harshly, making him sound like Muttley from the old _Wacky Races_ cartoons.

 

Steve smiles a little. "Careful, Buck, I think someone here might try and rescue you from choking."

 

"If I need rescuing, you can do it," Bucky pauses deliberately, " _Captain Asshole._ " He dissolves into furious laughter once again, drawing the attention of an elderly couple sitting a few tables away. Steve makes a small apology to the pair, who turn back to their own meals. "Well, if it's a choice between that or 'Captain Kitten-Face', call me 'Asshole', please."

 

Bucky's eyes light up. "Captain Kitten-Face. Remind me to have Captains Kitten-Face and Asshole engraved onto plaques. I can go to the Smithsonian exhibit and stick them places it'll take the guards _months_ to find and remove."

 

Steve's mouth hangs open for a moment in surprise. "I can't believe I'm seen in public with you," Steve bemoans, picking up his fork again to eat, "you're so embarrassing."

 

"My presence is a boon to all, and _you_ wear high-waisted trousers," Bucky counters.

 

"I do _not_. At least, not anymore. But if I _did_ , I would work them."

 

"Whatever you say, Beyonce," Bucky humours him.

 

When they're finally done eating their entrees, their long-suffering waiter brings menus back out for dessert. Steve chooses cheesecake, while Bucky orders tiramisu when he finds out Steve's never had it.

 

Bucky promises to share, but what he fails to mention is that he intends to feed Steve said dessert.

 

"Open up and close your eyes," he says, waving his fork in front of Steve's face.

 

"Is that necessary?"

 

"It helps you concentrate on the coffee flavour more, trust me on this."

 

Steve looks at him with unveiled suspicion, but Bucky smiles encouragingly and waves his fork around a little more.

 

"Okay, stop waving the fork, you'll spill it." Steve slowly closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

 

Poor trusting Steve.

 

Bucky does get the bite of tiramisu in Steve's mouth, but not before he 'misses' and smears it over the side of his cheek first. Steve's eyes snap open but can't reply as the dessert is pushed into his mouth. He tries to frown as he chews, but it's a little bit impossible.

 

He does, however, surprise Bucky by smushing a segment of cheesecake on his closed mouth.

 

This happens a few more times before Steve kicks Bucky under the table as their waiter passes by, looking like the last thing he wants to do is tell the two grown men in the corner to settle down.

 

Bucky finishes his wine and behaves for the remainder of dessert. They end up leaving a hefty tip for their poor server, and Steve draws a very quick caricature of the two of them in the process of re-enacting the spaghetti scene from _Lady & the Tramp _with a heartfelt thank you on a napkin. Bucky snaps a quick photo of the masterpiece before they leave.

 

The air has gotten a tiny bit chillier since they've been in the restaurant, and Bucky pulls his scarf around his throat a little tighter. Steve slots his left shoulder behind Bucky's right, gently resting his hand on the small of Bucky's back as they walk. There aren't too many people around on a Wednesday night, those that are around don't pay much mind.

 

"Want to go for a little walk before we head back to the car?" Steve asks.

 

Bucky nods. "I could probably stand to work off the pasta a little," he jokes.

 

They stroll around a few streets of the East Village, talking quietly and window-shopping. There are some really cool hole-in-the-wall shops that Bucky wouldn't mind coming back and checking out during opening hours. He hasn't really had much cause to visit this part of town in years.

 

Steve's presence is warm and comforting. It's rather fun pressing their faces up against the glass of some of the stores and pointing out things on the inside. One of the vintage stores has a truly hideous fringe vest from the seventies in the window, and Bucky feels it necessary for Steve to know it exists, and revile it like he does. He grabs Steve's hand and tugs on it to draw his attention, but then somehow just never takes it away again. For his part, Steve doesn't let it go.

 

A little thrill goes through Bucky as they walk down the street holding hands. It's not the first time they've done it, but most hand-holding with Steve happens in private, due to their mutual desire to stay off the radar -- at least a little longer. Still, it's Wednesday night and after nine pm and nobody seems to care.

 

On the way they stop at a little coffee place, where Steve buys them both chai lattes, ordering under the name 'Grant'. He admits it's sometimes a complete whim as to what name he gives various baristas or strangers, but his local ones all know him as 'Steve'.

 

Chai acquired -- and delicious -- Steve walks them back to where he's parked the car. They soon discover that as fancy as the car is, one modern convenience is absent; cup holders. Bucky laughs and shakes his head. "What did we do before cup holders, huh? Hold our drinks like losers." He takes Steve's drink, because he's definitely going to need both hands to drive.

 

"I don't know... my cup holder's pretty cute," Steve grins tweaking Bucky's nose.

 

"This is what it comes down to," Bucky deadpans, "we're dating so you can drive and not spill your hot beverage."

 

"That and the eye candy," Steve says, leaning over to kiss Bucky firmly before he kicks over the engine.

 

Steve turns on the radio at a low volume as they head back towards Brooklyn. It's a pleasant drive, and Bucky ends up winding the window down a little, letting Steve sip from his cup at traffic lights. They chatter over the background music piping through the speakers.

 

Just before they hit the Manhattan Bridge, a traffic report tells them there's been a collision on the expressway that will take them most of the way to Bucky's apartment, holding up travel.

 

Bucky winces. He's been having such a pleasant evening, he really doesn't feel like spending the last of it stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the way home.

 

"We can always detour to my place, if you want," Steve suggests. "Worst case scenario, you can spend the night and get an early start tomorrow morning."

 

Babushka has plenty of water and food to get her by for the night, and even spending an hour at Steve's apartment would be better than an hour on the road. "Deal. Take me home, Rogers."

 

Steve nods succinctly, and takes a different offshoot when he crosses the bridge, heading towards Brooklyn Heights. The trip there is much shorter, and Bucky muses how convenient it must be for Steve to head into Manhattan so often when he lives as close as he does.

 

Swiping into his building's underground garage, Steve parks next to his motorcycle. They make their way upstairs, Steve still laughing about how when he stopped at a traffic light, Bucky jumped out of the car to run to the curb and trash their empty chai cups.

 

When they get inside Steve's apartment, Bucky removes his scarf, wallet and keys, and immediately flops down on the couch. He's full, and calm, and happy to be hanging out with his boyfriend. Toeing off his shoes, he puts his feet up on the coffee table and sighs deeply, slumping into the cushions.

 

"Make yourself at home, Buck," Steve says in an amused voice. He's turned on the kitchen light and put car and apartment keys on the counter, but doesn't turn on any others; the light from the kitchen is enough to see, but still leaves the living room pretty dim. He putters around, drinking a glass of water, and putting on some music softly before finally coming to stand beside Bucky. "Do you need anything?"

 

Bucky considers this carefully, before shaking his head and patting the empty sofa cushion next to him. Steve grins and takes his jacket off before sitting down. Bucky's momentarily distracted by the fabric of his tee adhering slightly to the curves of his chest. Steve has a weird tendency to wear things too tight sometimes -- not that Bucky's complaining -- but this shirt is just right. It hints at his impressive musculature without showing it off.

 

Steve's arms go around the back of the sofa and Bucky doesn't even try to stop himself from wrapping an arm around Steve's waist and leaning in. "I hope you've had a nice time tonight," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of Bucky's head.

 

"It's been perfect," Bucky replies. "Just what I needed, really." He absently rubs his hand over Steve's stomach. "What brought it on, anyway?"

 

Steve shrugs, his hand brushing down Bucky's arm. "It's sort of a thank-you for introducing me to your family? But not really. Mostly it's because I wanted an excuse for us to get a little dressed up and go out on a nice date."

 

Bucky makes a little snort, and Steve looks at him with surprise. "What was that for?"

 

"I'm a bit mad at you," Bucky says, and he knows he can't keep his voice serious. He turns towards Steve and pokes him in the chest. Steve shifts, a curious smile on his face.

 

"What did I do?" he asks enquiringly.

 

"My cheeks hurt a lot, and it's your fault." Bucky does his best to keep a stern tone, but it's _so hard_.

 

Steve blinks those big blue eyes at him, not knowing where he's going with his line of questioning, but willing to see it through anyway. He brushes his fingers over the curve of Bucky's cheek. "Why is that?" Steve asks softly.

 

Bucky twists and ends up slinging a leg over Steve's thighs, straddling them. He rests his forearms on his boyfriend's shoulders. "Because I smile too much when I'm around you."

 

Steve's face is a revelation of happiness. His smile soft and sweet as he wraps his huge hands around Bucky's waist. "Wow, Buck," he whispers reverently, "that was really--"

 

"Heartfelt?" Bucky suggests.

 

"Sappy," Steve counters. "Really. I think I have diabetes now."

 

"Jerk. Your face has diabetes."

 

"Bucky," Steve laughs, "that doesn't even make sen--"

 

But Steve's cut off when Bucky kisses him. Steve responds immediately, leaning up into Bucky's mouth and kissing back with fervour. Sinking hands into Steve's blond hair, Bucky opens his mouth, letting his tongue run across Steve's bottom lip.

 

His boyfriend groans, fingers twitching tighter around his waist.

 

They've kissed before. They've kissed _a lot_ before, but there's something unique about now. No injuries, pressing engagements or distracting kittens. It's just the two of them and a nice window of time to kill. Steve rumbles noises deep in his throat and it's intoxicating.

 

Bucky shuffles forward, almost hissing in disappointment when Steve's mouth leaves his, but he needn't worry; Steve uses his beautiful lips to trail over the line of Bucky's jaw, licking and nibbling down his neck. Bucky shifts in Steve's lap, breath hitching as Steve pushes Bucky's leather jacket off his shoulders.

 

"Let me--" Bucky murmurs, stripping out of his jacket and dumping it on the floor.

 

"Messy," Steve murmurs, fingers rucking up Bucky's sweater to rest on the bare skin of his waist. His fingers are so hot, they feel like they're scalding his flesh.

 

Bucky needs to be closer, so he shifts. Instead of his knees being on the outside of Steve's thighs, one rests between. When Steve leans forward to bring their mouths together again, he presses into Bucky's knee and they both hiss at the contact. Steve's definitely physically invested in their makeout session, Bucky can tell.

 

Steve's hands are everywhere, and with increasing regularity, swiping over bare skin. He brings them up underneath Bucky's sweater, high on his torso, and shoots Bucky a questioning glance. Bucky nods feverishly in response, and Steve changes his grip to pull the sweater right off his head, throwing it over the arm of the sofa.

 

Having unimpeded access to Bucky's torso, Steve goes back to kissing Bucky's neck, now travelling down to kiss and lick at his collarbones. Steve hisses in approval when Bucky bears down on his leg, grinding into Steve's thigh. It's a sound Bucky could get used to, it makes his insides flip.

 

Bucky tugs at Steve's shirt fitfully, unsure himself as to whether it's just to give his hands something to do, or he's actively trying to strip off the other man. Steve pulls away from his skin and looks at Bucky with dark, wide eyes.

 

"I can--" he grunts out, flicking a glance down.

 

"Okay," Bucky agrees, pulling back to get his fingers under the hem of Steve's grey shirt. He yanks it up, and Steve lifts his arms to help with the ease of its removal.

 

They're skin to skin, and Bucky's eyes are drawn to the carved perfection that is Steve's chest, slightly heaving. They've been shirtless around one another before, and they've also made out like horny teenagers before... but weirdly enough, never at the same time.

 

The electricity in the air kicks up another notch as Bucky makes eye contact with Steve and deliberately tosses his shirt away. Steve makes an aggrieved little sound, and moves to take his hips in large hands. Bucky cups one hand over Steve's right shoulder, the other tentatively touching the smooth skin of his pectoral, slowly dipping lower.

 

Bucky begins mapping very specific areas of Steve's torso, often chasing them with a soft kiss. He moves from Steve

s collar bone, to a rib just below his right nipple, before travelling down to where his stomach dips and moulds to his iliac furrow, marvelling at the smooth, unmarked patches of skin.

Steve squirms under the contact, but he lets Bucky do what he wants without interfering, eyes not leave Bucky's face. Bucky likes the fact he has Steve's undivided attention, and deliberately bites his lip, which makes Steve's thigh's move fitfully beneath him. Bucky's smile is hardly more than a quick bare of his teeth, and he takes one of Steve's hands in his to kiss the soft place between thumb and index finger.

 

At first Steve seems confused, but around the fourth or fifth very specific stop, his eyes take on a knowing quality.

 

"Buck--" he breathes out.

 

"Mhm?"

 

Steve exhales harshly as Bucky's fingers skim somewhere apparently ticklish. Bucky enjoys seeing Steve's chest hitch as he breathes. "I know what you're doing."

 

Bucky's smile is warmer as he leans forward until their noses are touching and they're breathing in the same air.

 

"Seems like last time I was straddling your lap on this sofa, you looked a lot more banged up and bruised. Was just checking out the merchandise," Bucky murmurs, his lips brushing Steve's as he speaks.

 

"As you can see," Steve replies, his voice stupidly and beautifully wrecked already, "I'm all good now."

 

"I don't know," Bucky says, looking over the perfect expanse of Steve's chest. "There's still something here..." Bucky brushes his fingers over Steve's neck.

 

"What are you-- unnggh--" Steve's comments are interrupted by a sharp grunt when Bucky gives Steve a sucking bite on the firm muscle of his trapezius. Bucky's brain nearly shorts out as Steve's body jerks under his teeth, skin salty and soft.

 

"Buck," Steve gasps, and cups Bucky's face with one hand, and wraps his other powerful arm around Bucky's waist. Before he knows it, Bucky is on his back with Steve hovering over him. He can see his own teeth marks in Steve's shoulder, the red-purple of a bruise that is bound to fade very soon on his flesh.

 

Steve's eyes are almost glowing with naked affection in the dim light. It makes his stomach flip. "My turn," Steve rumbles and Bucky's toes actually curl in his socks.

 

Steve's lips skate over Bucky's torso, large hands brushing over the skin of his arms. Bucky's not sure whether he's ever been subject to such gentle and intense ministrations. The top of Steve's blond head ducks and weaves back and forth as the man makes his way with loving diligence over Bucky's chest. Bucky arches up off the cushions when Steve skims over his nipples. One leg bends at the knee as Steve finds a particularly sensitive spot on his ribs, and Bucky groans as the blond pulls said leg up and around his hips, driving Bucky's erection firmly back into the solid muscle of Steve's thigh.

 

"Fuck," Bucky breathes, gripping the couch cushions for purchase.

 

Steve stretches back up to nearly lie flush against Bucky, pressing their mouths together. Their kisses are deep and beginning to fray at the edges of Bucky's control. He's not the only one, if the desperate noises at the base of Steve's throat are anything to go by.

 

Those noises break a little bit of Bucky's brain, even as Steve's hand twitches underneath his knee. Bucky responds by hooking his bent leg up higher, around Steve's waist. Steve pulls back from Bucky's mouth, lips parting in surprise.

 

He maintains that searing contact, and presses down. They both bite out swears, which only makes Steve do it again. And again.

 

Bucky stops grabbing the couch and starts grabbing Steve, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders and holds on tight.

 

Suddenly, Bucky starts laughing into Steve's mouth, and Steve pulls back for a moment. Although he doesn't stop grinding into Bucky's crotch, bless him.

 

"What's so funny?" he murmurs, nuzzling at Bucky's cheek again. Bucky thinks he's got a stubble fetish.

 

"Haven't dry-humped anyone on a sofa in _years_ ," he replies huskily. "At least, not when there wasn't a chance someone's parents were going to walk in and interrupt."

 

Bucky swears again as Steve grinds down, watching with careful eyes and cataloguing every reaction, it seems. He smiles a little, one side of his mouth quirked up higher than the other. "It's safe to say that's not very likely to happen." Bucky's eyes close as Steve methodically plants kisses down the side of his jaw and the line of his throat, only opening them again when a hand makes its way between them, teasing at the button of Bucky's trousers. Bucky stills, and it causes Steve to do the same. He pulls back and they gaze at one another.

 

Steve's hair is a fucking mess, his eyes are too bright and lips swollen and bitten and wet. There's a sheen of sweat just beginning to form on his shoulders. And everything about him has paused as he looks at Bucky.

 

"Bucky," Steve entreaties. It's part-question, part-plea, part-prayer. Bucky's brain is so fuzzy he just needs a moment to catch up, to buy an extra second of thinking time. This isn't where he thought he'd be on a Wednesday night.

 

"I-" Bucky's throat is so dry, he needs to clear it to speak. "I have work tomorrow," he says hoarsely, licking at the perspiration beading on his upper lip.

 

Steve hand doesn't move, his eyes don't falter, even when his brows do that cute thing where they go up.

 

"Do you want to stop?" he asks cautiously.

 

And that's all the extra time he needs to consider his answer. "No," he confesses quietly, "not at all." Bucky lifts his hips up from the sofa and presses them towards Steve's hand.

 

A hard 'yes' given, Steve bends down to kiss him passionately, the same time his hand flicks the button of his trousers open, slowly taking down the zipper. Bucky moulds himself to Steve as best he can, kissing back with renewed vigour.

 

Because he knows, he knows no matter what, if the answer had been hesitant, or a 'maybe' or an 'I don't know', Steve would've stopped. Fucking hard-on be damned, Steve would've been okay with that.

 

But Bucky _wants_ this. And so does Steve.

 

Steve's large palm runs over Bucky's aching erection, still in his briefs, and Bucky arches into the touch with a muffled swear.

 

"Language," Steve mutters, and Bucky coughs a laugh that dissolves into a pretty embarrassing groan.

 

"Fuck me..." Bucky's retort has a lot less sass than he originally intended because of Steve's hand's current location and activities.

 

Steve's eyes glitter at the response. "I'm _trying_ ," he says as his hand finally dips under the waistband of Bucky's underwear.

 

Bucky desperately wants to snark back, but leaves the English language somewhere far behind when Steve grasps his erection.

 

Steve's hand is warm and slightly damp from sweat, fingers deceptively smooth. They massage his soft skin in a gentle rhythm, his fist giving a little twist at the crown that makes Bucky's hips jerk off the sofa. Bucky wraps one arm around Steve's neck, and the next time his hips leave the cushion, he holds onto Steve and pulls his jeans down past his hips.

 

The grin Steve gives him is equal parts wicked and joyful, and he helps get the waistband down to Bucky's upper thigh. "So thoughtful," he murmurs, breath hot on Bucky's cheek.

 

The air on his bare skin is cool, but Steve's hand is so very hot. There's a whine when the blond takes it away, and Bucky's belatedly surprised to realise it came from him. He looks to Steve, a little glassy-eyed and a lot touch-starved, only to see Steve--

 

Oh, God.

 

\--see Steve lick the entire length of his hand, from the heel of his palm, to the tip of his middle finger. He gives Bucky a searing glance before he touches him again and--

 

Oh, there's that whine again.

 

Bucky can feel Steve's hard length pressing into the side of his thigh, and Steve moves with each downstroke of his hand on Bucky's dick. And while Steve spares plenty of glances down to see what he's doing, the majority of the time is spent looking at Bucky, or kissing him, or pressing his nose into the side of Bucky's neck and making these amazing, breathy sighs. Like _he's_ the one getting a handjob on the sofa.

 

It's _stupid_ how much Steve is into this, murmuring words Bucky can't quite make out, but he assumes, due to context, that they're likely encouraging. Steve's voice dips into a register he's _never_ heard before, wrecked and so sexy.

 

And there's pressure building down low, a kind of tension that is winding tight, like a rubber band being pulled that's going to snap at any moment.

 

"Steve, we need to-- I can't-- much longer," he is able to choke out.

 

"What do you want, Buck?" Steve asks, lips pressing into the soft skin right behind Bucky's ear. He mercifully stops moving his hand, which, while frustrating, gives Bucky a chance to think.

 

Bucky pushes himself up onto his elbows, and Steve sits up a little, resting his hand on Bucky's naked thigh. Breathing heavily, he allows himself a moment to observe Steve in his shirtless state, the notable line of his erection pressing against his slacks.

 

"What do I want?" Bucky echoes, running shaky fingers through his hair. He looks to Steve, who's rubbing tiny circles on Bucky's hipbone with his thumb.

 

"We can do a lot, or a little," Steve says, giving him a stupid-gorgeous smile. It looks even better over the pink flush that's started at Steve's neck and is creeping down his chest at a rate of knots. "You tell me."

 

And it's not like Bucky hasn't thought about this more than once, and wondered when it was going to be the right time.

 

 _Now_ , his brain supplies helpfully.

 

It's not like he hasn't pictured Steve hovering over him, or him sliding down Steve's body to--

 

Bucky's dick twitches, and he swallows. He stretches up to kiss Steve, tugging at the blond's bottom lip with his teeth. "Oh, I _want_ to do a lot," Bucky confirms, loving the way that Steve smiles against his lips, "it's just that... I wasn't expecting the evening to go quite like this. I'm... kinda caught unprepared."

 

"Unprepared?" Steve repeats, chasing Bucky's lips.

 

"Protection," Bucky clarifies.

 

Understanding dawns on Steve's face. "Ohhh. You mean condoms and lubricant, and so on."

 

Bucky stops kissing and pulls back. "Well, _yeah_ , but don't say 'and so on', it sounds weird."

 

"Sorry," Steve nuzzles Bucky's throat.

 

Bucky murmurs in approval, before sighing. "So yeah. We might have to settle for a little, because I'm too fucking tired for a CVS run."

 

"Bucky," Steve says, and his tone catches Bucky's attention. It's amused, and a little bit indulgent, like Steve's teasing him. He really didn't think this'd be the point where Steve was having a laugh at his expense, despite the guy's occasionally oddball sense of humour.

 

"Bucky," he repeats, "what's made you think that you're the only one obliged to be prepared?"

 

It takes an embarrassingly long moment for Steve's words to sink in. "I--" he starts, and then stops, eyebrows rising in surprise. "Yeah?"

 

Steve just smiles beatifically. "I wanted to be ready for when we were."

 

Trust Bucky's dick to take this sweet moment and half-ruin it with a visible twitch. Steve looks down and laughs gently. Bucky pulls him in for a tender kiss, that soon turns very heated. He's not the only one who starts twitching after that.

 

"Come on," Steve urges, getting off the sofa and pulling Bucky up with him, "everything's in the bedroom."

 

Bucky shakes his head a little, suitably impressed. "Figured you for a bit of a boyscout, but had no idea you'd be so prepared."

 

"I'm a tactician," Steve says in response, hands going around the back to grip Bucky's ass firmly, "I plan ahead."

 

Bucky grunts in approval, hand going over Steve's to keep it on his butt. "Not complaining. Just... wish I could've been a fly on the wall when you were buying lube and condoms and shit."

 

Steve fixes him with a wondering look. "Did you know they make lube that heats up on contact?" and Bucky nearly chokes.

 

"Fucking hell," Bucky snorts, "are you serious?"

 

"Golly, I sure am, Buck. They didn't have that back during--"

 

The penny drops, but too late. "No, don't say it," Bucky warns.

 

"--the Great Depression," Steve finishes with a smug smile.

 

Oh, he is _such_ an asshole, and Bucky informs him of that fact. Steve isn't worried. "You like me anyway," he tells Bucky matter-of-factly.

 

"I'll like you a lot more if we finish what we started," Bucky says, grinding his dick into Steve's trouser-clad hip.

 

Bucky tightens his arms around Steve's neck. He slants his mouth over Steve's, burying his fingers in the short hairs at the base of the blond's skull. With not too much more fanfare, and with very little effort expended on his part, Steve picks Bucky up off the ground, Bucky wrapping his legs around Steve's waist to keep from falling.

 

One of the last more coherent thoughts that flits through Bucky's brain as Steve walks him backwards to his bedroom is that he's probably not going to get a lot of sleep tonight.

 

***

 

 

**The One Where Bucky's Late For Work**

**( _Location: Steve's apartment / Bucky's office_ )**

 

The first thing Bucky's aware of when he wakes up, is the absence of a tiny, furry body impeding his breathing. It's confusing for a minute, because Babushka never puts aside an opportunity to try and asphyxiate him while he's asleep.

 

The second thing he's aware of is there's an incredible coffee aroma wafting into the room.

 

Bucky stretches with a muffled groan and blearily blinks his eyes open. The sheets pooled around his chest are pale grey, and he instantly recognises them as Steve's.

 

 _Steve's_...

Bucky shifts a little on the mattress, and feels a decidedly sharp twinge in his lower back.

 

Oh. Right.

 

Bucky grins and faceplants on his pillow, the only thing souring his sudden good mood is the fact that Steve isn't next to him -- but he's obviously off making coffee, which is the next best thing.

 

Last night had been... something _else,_ and completely worth waiting for. Sure, he might be slightly uncomfortable at work today, but--

 

Bucky's eyes snap open as he tries to make them focus on Steve's bedside clock. It reads 08:13am.

 

Shitshitshitmotherfucking _shit._

 

With a truly epic amount of flailing, Bucky untangles himself from the sheets, narrowly escaping falling face-first on the floor. He dimly realises it might not be the best look to sprint into the living room stark naked. Scanning the room, he finds the briefs that Steve was wearing last night and pulls them on before exiting the bedroom.

 

He finds Steve at the kitchen counter, wearing sweatpants and cheerfully pouring batter into a waffle iron. He looks up as Bucky enters with his impressive bed hair and wild eyes. As soon as Bucky takes in the sight of Steve, some of the blond's calm washes over him. Bucky running into the room in borrowed underwear should be a cause of some concern, but Steve doesn't seem perturbed by it.

 

"Sleep okay?" he asks, a tentative smile on his face.

 

Bucky wants to say 'good morning'. He wants to say 'hi, Steve'. He wants to just walk over there and kiss the man stupidly on the face.

 

"It's after eight," Bucky wheezes instead, "I'm going to be late for work."

 

Steve winces. "I'm sorry. I was going to wake you when breakfast was ready."

 

"No time," Bucky mutters, looking in vain for his discarded clothes. His jacket is on the coffee table, pants in a pile on the floor... shit, they're all crushed. Sweater is hanging off the arm of the couch. Jesus Christ. He starts making his way around the living room, collecting clothes and muttering as he goes. "Fucking hell, I don't have time to go home and get changed. The subway's going to take too long from here and--"

 

"Bucky, breathe for a second," Steve says, coming to stand in front of him, taking his shoulders gently. That calm rolls off him in waves. "Have a quick shower. Call the office, tell them you might be a few minutes late, but you'll be there."

 

"But my clothes--"

 

"They'll be fine, I'll take care of them." Steve gently wrests the clothes out of Bucky's grip, draping them over one arm. "You can eat breakfast in the car while I drop you off."

 

"Steve..." Bucky says, and he's supremely aware of how this really isn't the way he was hoping a 'morning after' situation was going to go.

 

Steve's free hand cups his face and kisses him sweetly, and the contact is like an electro-static shock. "Shower. Brush your teeth. I'll get you to work on time." He pauses, a wry smile on his face. "And good morning."

 

And there's no power on earth other than this that can make Bucky _stop_ for five seconds. He feels achey and a little fuzzy and really fucking _good_. "Good morning," Bucky replies, full of the fondness that should've greeted Steve first thing. This doesn't change the fact he's still on a tight schedule, but if Steve's actively on his side, Bucky's sure it won't be too bad.

 

Steve slaps him on the ass and shoos him away. "Go shower. Also," he pauses, raising an eyebrow. "Is that my underwear?"

 

"Finally got into your pants," Bucky quips, a small grin on his face as he makes a beeline for the bathroom.

 

He's stayed over at Steve's a few times, but despite Steve saying he doesn't mind, Bucky never uses the ensuite attached to the main bedroom. Feels a little too private. He always goes for the main bathroom, and if he has any bags or belongings with him, always dumps them in the spare bedroom.

 

Bucky's stepping over the tub and into the shower nearly before he's stripped out of Steve's underwear and dumped them on the counter. It takes very little time for the water to get delightfully hot. His skin feels dirty, with dried perspiration and general after-sleep staleness. Bucky puts his head and shoulders under the showerhead to wash his hair, before taking soap to his body.

 

The heat seeps into sore and strained muscles as Bucky stretches under the water. His lower back and quads burn a little, biceps throbbing. Bucky's not a masochist and isn't particularly excited by pain, but the deep ache in parts of his body only serves to remind him of his very late night with Steve, and how incredibly satisfying it was. A little smiles comes unbidden to his face.

 

As Bucky soaps his body down, he takes the opportunity to squeeze sore muscles, and carry out a little visual examination. There are a couple of faint purple smudges near his hip that are unexpected. Touching them is a little tender, and it takes Bucky a moment to figure that they're the size and shape of Steve's fingertips.

 

It's a shame that he's in such a hurry, because one of Bucky's favourite parts of sleeping with someone he likes, is sleeping with them again the next morning. And generally being comfortable and lazy, and basically the complete opposite of what's happening now.

 

But Steve doesn't seem particularly concerned. He's just there in his kitchen in sweatpants looking like a golden god and cooking breakfast and making coffee and these are definitely not things he needs to dwell on right now, given the likelihood of a hard-on, and how inconvenient that's going to make his work preparations.

 

Bucky wisely dials back the warm water and makes the remaining shower a little chillier.

 

When finished, Bucky steps out of the tub and looks for a towel. He notices the door a little more closed than when he dashed in, and a pile of items on the sink. First is a clean towel. Secondly, there's a plain, white t shirt, clean socks and underwear, all belonging to Steve.

 

Bucky grabs the towel and starts drying himself off, a little smile on his face. For a big guy, Steve can be remarkably stealthy.

 

Drying his hair enough so that it's not dripping on anything, Bucky puts on the underwear and socks and shirt, padding quickly out into the living room.

 

The first thing that pops into his brain as he lays eyes on Steve once again is "...whoa."

 

In the intervening time where Bucky's been showering, Steve has changed into a pair of taupe cargo pants, plain blue t shirt and sneakers, hair styled and looking irritatingly alert. He's set up his ironing board in the middle of the living room, getting the crinkles out of Bucky's discarded slacks from the previous night. Laid gently on the back of the couch are Bucky's leather jacket, sweater and scarf. On the counter top is a plate with a few waffles and what appears to be a travel mug, steam coming out of the opening. His mouth hangs open a little.

 

Steve looks up and gives Bucky a quick smile before his attention goes back to the ironing board. "Your underwear and socks are in my hamper, you can pick them up next time." He inclines his head towards the kitchen. "I'll be finished ironing in a minute, breakfast's on the counter."

 

Bucky doesn't argue with the man who has singlehandedly organised his life in the space of fifteen minutes. He moves immediately to the counter and bites a large chunk out of one of the waffles. It's _good._

 

"How did you get all this done? Are you actually The Flash, or something?" Bucky asks around a mouthful. Rude, and his mother would kill him. But his mother ain't here.

 

Steve puts the iron down and gently shakes out Bucky's trousers. "You of all people should know that The Flash is make-believe," he says, mock-seriously.

 

"How silly of me," Bucky apologises, dropping the waffle back on the plate to take his trousers. Steve grabs a lightweight jacket as Bucky pulls his pants on, and throws his sweater from the night before over the shirt, just so he doesn't have to carry it. He also grabs his wallet and keys.

 

"You good to go?" Steve asks, picking up the discarded car keys from last night.

 

Bucky procures a few sheets of paper towel, wraps the remaining waffles in them, and grabs the travel mug. "Yeah... if I forgot anything I can live without it for a day."

 

Steve smiles and gestures to the door. "Let's get you to work, then."

 

It feels like it should be weird, leaving Steve's apartment so abruptly after what was a really lovely date, and a very enjoyable evening afterwards, but Steve doesn't for one minute make Bucky feel bad about his rushing.

 

They get into the car and Bucky once again curses the lack of cup holders. "I'll speak to Tony about it," Steve says, "he's probably happy to oblige."

 

"His cup holders would probably also double as rocket launchers. Pass," Bucky says, "I'll be a peasant and hold my own mug."

 

Steve laughs gently as they pull out onto the street.

 

The one thing Bucky didn't bank on is needing sunglasses. He winces at the bright light.

 

"You okay?" Steve asks, flicking him a quick glance.

 

"Yeah. Just... slight wine headache. Even small amounts of alcohol tend to make me feel like shit the next day. One of many reasons I don't generally imbibe. It's okay, though, I have Advil in my desk drawer."

 

"You could close your eyes, if it helps?" Steve suggests.

 

" _Far_ too tempting. I might fall asleep again. I ah..." he grins ruefully. "I didn't get much shut-eye last night."

 

Steve's mouth twitches up into a faint smile. "I'm shocked." He pauses and chews on his lip for a moment. "Are you okay with... everything else?"

 

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee, arching one eyebrow. "What, like the political climate in Europe? The State of the Union? Or our date last night?"

 

"Let's go with the last one," Steve responds, checking his mirrors as he changes lanes.

 

Bucky gives a little grin and shifts to get more comfortable in his seat. He allows himself to think back on the last, say, sixteen hours, and damned if they weren't some of the nicest spent in anyone's company in a long time. Steve has this way of being considerate without being stifling. He paid for Bucky's dinner not because he's on a power trip or because he earns more money -- even though he _does_ \-- Steve paid because it was _his_ idea and _his_ treat. And if Bucky had planned the date, Bucky would do the same.

 

"That was probably one of the nicest dates I've ever been on," he says honestly. "The flowers, this car, being taken to a cute little restaurant, walking around together..." Bucky sighs contentedly. "I felt really appreciated and spoilt. You did a great job."

 

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Steve answer softly. "I had a really good time, too."

 

They fall into a short silence where Bucky thinks Steve wants to perhaps elaborate a little further on their night proclivities, but isn't sure if he should be bringing it up. Bucky will save him the trouble.

 

He leans towards Steve conspiratorially. "Not gonna lie, the sex was pretty fantastic, too."

 

Steve barks out a laugh, head ducking shyly for a moment. Bucky takes it as a victory that any vague sense of tension that was in the car evaporates. "It was, at that," Steve confirms. His voice has that rumbly tone that makes Bucky's toes curl.

 

"I think you found muscles I'd long since abandoned to myth. I know that now, because I used them and they're _killing me_ ," Bucky quips.

 

"Well, you know what they say... you exercise more, you're bound to develop resistance," Steve somehow manages to keep a straight face. "I'm happy to act as your PT."

 

Bucky has to shake his head because that is the lamest proposition he's ever been hit with, and he loves it. "Sure, why not." His smile settles from something wide and open, into something smaller and infinitely more private.

 

"The absolute last thing I want to be doing after last night is running out on you so suddenly to go to work, but..." Bucky sighs. "You made breakfast, and clothed me, and sweet mother of god you caffeinated me, and you're driving through bullshit rush-hour Brooklyn traffic to get me to work this morning--"

 

"-- _and_ picking you up later," Steve adds.

 

"-- _and_ a pick-up?" Bucky asks, to Steve's confirming nod. Bucky shrugs helplessly. "You haven't even questioned even once why I need to go."

 

Steve actually looks confused. "Why would I? I know your work is important, and we discussed how busy you are last night."

 

"Trust me when I say not everyone is as understanding as you," Bucky puts in, and his voice speaks of experience on that matter.

 

Steve frowns, and Bucky secretly delights in the fact that Captain America is looking in disdain on anyone he's ever dated who bitched at him when his work interrupted social plans. "Well, they're jerks, then," Steve announces.

 

Bucky grins. Because Steve is awesome, and it's been a long time since he's felt taken care of, but not diminished or pandered to, by someone he's dating.

 

"They are," he answers Steve's statement. "So what I'm trying to say is... thank you for being the best boyfriend in the history of boyfriends."

 

Bucky once talked about how Steve smiles with his whole body, and now is no exception. The idiot has the audacity to be two hundred-plus pounds of muscle and strength, and he has the absolute cheek to look _bashful._ Bucky doesn't even know what to do with him.

 

"I'm glad I'm a good boyfriend," Steve says, squeezing Bucky's thigh. "You are, too. In case you're wondering."

 

"Stop making me feel feelings, Steve. I'm trying to eat waffles."

 

"Waffles aren't feelings food?"

 

"'course not. Pancakes are feelings food, waffles are for thoughtful contemplation of life's mysteries, but only with the correct toppings."

 

They have a quick, intense conversation about what toppings constitute as 'correct', during which Bucky finishes his breakfast and drinks the rest of his coffee. He also texts Denise to let her know he might be a touch late. She responds and allays his fears, telling him not to worry.

 

Steve makes excellent time. In fact, they get into the outreach only a little before nine-thirty. One of their neighbours has a driveway that they don't mind getting used for pick-ups and drop-offs as long as nobody parks there for more than a few minutes. Bucky directs Steve to pull in and undoes his seatbelt.

 

"Here I am," Bucky says, faintly reluctantly.

 

"Here you are," Steve replies, turning in his seat to face Bucky. "What time will you be finished?"

 

"Five-thirty, maybe six? Could be earlier, depending on how much I can smash out. You finish at three, right?"

 

"Mhm. Keep in touch through the day, let me know if your times change."

 

"Okay," Bucky says. He stays seated for a moment, looking up at Steve. Steve gives him a gentle smile before Bucky leans across, threading one hand in the hair at the bag of Steve's head, pulling their mouths together. The kiss is deeper than regular goodbye kisses, with a hint of tongue and goes long enough that Steve wraps his hand around Bucky's waist.

 

"Okay, okay," Steve says eventually, pulling away just enough to separate their lips. "You have to go." He's breathing a little heavy, and Bucky's absurdly pleased with that. He tightens his fingers in Steve's hair.

 

"I have to go," Bucky murmurs.

 

"I'll write you later," Steve says, nuzzling Bucky's cheek.

 

"You'd better-- oh, _shit_ ," Bucky curses. "Do you have time to drop by my apartment? Bushka needs to be fed, and her litter probably needs changing."

 

Steve grins, and kisses Bucky tenderly on the cheek. "I can do that."

 

"Awesome, thank you." Bucky gets out of the car and gives a little wave to Steve, who waves back.

 

With a deep breath, he heads into the office. He's met by the low-level panic that is indicative of their current situation, and finds it easy to slip to his desk without drawing attention to himself. Breathing deeply, Bucky gets to work.

 

About half an hour later, he receives a picture message from Steve. Babushka is looking pleased next to a large and familiar hand.

 

_Steve: The girl is fed. I have done my boyfriendly duty. Now off to work I go!_

_Bucky: Thank you! FYI I will have more boyfriendly duties for you to complete later ;)_

_Steve: Ohh...?_

_Steve: Well, I'm known for my love of all things duty, so you let me know._

_Bucky: Roger that, Rogers._

 

Bucky's been at work a couple of hours and finally taking a much-needed coffee break when Denise walks into the break room. Wordlessly, he takes her mug out of the cupboard and adds more coffee to the Aeropress.

 

She gives Bucky a visual once-over, before a small smile curves her lips. Bucky arches an eyebrow. "What?" he asks.

 

"An observation," she replies cryptically. "But one I don't think you want me to make."

 

Bucky leans back against the kitchenette counter and crosses his ankles as well as his arms. He trusts Denise more than anyone else in the office. If she's going to point something out, it's potentially worth hearing. "Out with it," he says.

 

Her lips twitch again, and she makes a casual glance around to make sure no one else is about to enter the room.

 

"It's not much. Just... looks like someone didn't go home last night."

 

Bucky freezes, but makes a valiant effort to keep breathing as per normal. The crowd he works with is tough; Dee tougher than most. It's really fucking hard to get stuff by her. He shoots her a delightfully obtuse, confused look. "Weird call... what makes you say that?"

 

Denise doesn't say anything save to let her eyes scan down and up his body once again. Bucky's fingers twitch on his bicep. "What I'm wearing? I dress nice for work sometimes, you know." He makes great pains to sound put-upon.

 

Cocking her head to the side, Denise capitulates. "I'll admit, it was a tough call. You don't normally wear slacks to work, but the fact that you are, and it looks like they've been freshly-ironed _with creases_..." She trails off, as though her observations are enough. Denise gives him a little smile. And he's not totally shit at lying, he could dismiss her observation and she'd either believe him, or not and not call him out on it... but it occurs to him that it's _no big deal_. Bucky can be honest with her, and it's not going to explode in his face.

 

Bucky slumps against the counter briefly, head hanging down. "Steve and his _fucking creases_ ," he mutters good-naturedly.

 

Denise smiles in triumph. "So the boyfriend ironed your pants? That's commitment."

 

"More like I woke up late and didn't want to come to work looking like Jarrod."

 

She giggles and takes some cream out of the refrigerator. "Quite the opposite, actually. Very dapper."

 

"I scrub up okay," Bucky says with a small smirk. He finishes plunging the coffee and fills their two mugs.

 

"Have a date night?" Denise asks, adding cream to her coffee.

 

"Yeah," Bucky answers, unable to help the warmth in his words. "He borrowed a fancy car, picked me up after work and we went to a little old-fashioned Italian place in the East Village."

 

"Swanky!" Denise sips from her mug.

 

"Kind of the opposite, actually. It was a really simple place, but I liked it a lot. We had good food and just enjoyed spending time together." Try as he might -- and this is half the reason it is pointless to lie to her -- he can't keep the goofy smile off his face.

 

"That sounds brilliant, Bucky," she enthuses, and he knows that she's genuinely happy for him. "Then you stayed over?"

 

"I didn't plan to. Traffic was bad on the expressway last night, it ended up being easier." He looks at Denise askance, seeing her stifling a smile. Because she's classier than a lot of people. He still can't help pulling her up on it, though. "You _know_ it's not the first adult sleepover I've ever had, right?" he snarks.

 

"I _know_ ," she replies, smacking his arm lightly, before squeezing his bicep. "I just want to check in, and make sure you're okay. I don't require lurid personal details -- though if you wanted to share, that's cool -- but if you let me know you're doing well, that's more than enough."

 

Bucky cocks an eyebrow. "Are you using work-voice on me?" It's a strange feeling, having Denise ask him this. But then again, it's not like she's had many opportunities to pursue this line of questioning in the time they've known each other. And while it's always slightly awkward, it's a thousand times easier talking to Dee than it would be his sisters about certain things.

 

"I am, a little, but mostly I'm asking as your friend, and someone who cares about you."

 

Bucky's touched. He is normally a huge advocate of not mixing work and his personal life, but Denise is an exception, and he often feels more like her friend than her co-worker. And because of that, he pulls her in for a brief hug.

 

"I'm doing great, thank you for asking. And I'll try to remember to set my alarm next time I'm away from home and don't have a cat to sit on my face to wake me up." He grins. "Or at least I'll actually tell Steve what time I have to be at work so he can wake me."

 

"Early riser, huh?"

 

"Disgustingly so. What am I even doing with a morning person? It's against the laws of God and man," Bucky says in an offended tone. "Lucky he makes a good breakfast."

 

"Keep him," Denise advises, "Men who make breakfast voluntarily should be protected at all costs."

 

"So noted," Bucky grins.

 

 

**The One Where Steve Meets Denise**

**( _Location: Bucky's office / apartment_ )**

 

Denise makes him take a half-hour lunch break with her sometime after midday. They go a few doors up and get sandwiches from the little deli Bucky's fond of.

 

This is one of the only highlights of Bucky's work day. The rest of it seems to be a tiring push uphill.

 

He is in the middle of answering urgent emails when he gets a phone call from one of his kid's parents, which lasts way longer than it should. It makes him late by ten minutes for a meeting with one of his newer charges, and he has to apologise profusely. It pushes everything back, so he ends up having to call _another_ parent to reschedule because he's been delayed.

 

Then there's the ten-minute discussion with Jarrod over how they're going to get around the fact they've accidentally double-booked one of their meeting rooms with two separate kids who really need it. It takes some sorting, but if Denise leaves on _her_ appointment early, Bucky can use her office instead, leaving Jarrod with the room. It's enough to give him a nosebleed.

 

Throughout his day, his phone pings regularly with texts from Steve, which Bucky answers when he can.

 

_Steve: Tony asked if we did anything in the backseat of his car, and I asked if he thinks Howard did._

_Steve: He's stopped talking to me at the moment._

_Steve: It's like my deepest fantasy given form._

_Bucky: if that's your deepest fantasy... wow. Disappointment on my behalf._

_Steve: He's asking if he needs to get the inside detailed._

_Steve: Also I very rarely disappoint! I think..._

_Steve: Now I've made this statement that I'm not sure is true._

_Steve: Damn._

_Steve: Can you actually answer me and maybe put me out of my misery?_

 

_Bucky: Jesus Christ, Steve, aren't you meant to be in important briefings or something?_

_Steve: I'm on a break, please stop being a jerk and answer me?_

_Bucky: Fine. I've yet to be disappointed. Jackass._

_Steve: *Sexy_

_Bucky: For fuck's sake, go save the free world, or something! My phone keeps going off and I smile every time it does. People are getting suspicious._

_Steve: You're cute when you're pretending to be pissed off._

 

Bucky keeps working, but he definitely has a hard time wiping the grin off his face, and it gets him thinking.

 

Steve's coming to pick him up... he's met the family and it went well. Maybe... maybe he could meet someone else.

 

_Bucky: So hypothetically... if you come and pick me up and one of my co-workers is here, would you be interested in meeting her?_

_Steve: Sure, if you think it's a good idea._

_Bucky: All my ideas are good ideas._

_Steve: Keep telling yourself that, Mr 'I'll put chilli sauce on my ice-cream to prove a point'._

 

_Bucky: I think I should get points for being the first person to discover the only thing on Earth Sriracha isn't good on._

_Steve: I should get points for cleaning where you spit up the ice-cream onto my carpet._

_Bucky: ..._

_Bucky: Good point._

_Steve: I see what you did there_

_Steve: Your judgment call. I'd be happy to meet anyone you wanted to introduce me to xo_

Bucky sits on the idea for a few more hours as he slogs his way through an overflowing inbox, spreadsheets of schedules that have to be written and re-written, an in tray full of case files, and more coffee than one person should probably have in a week, let alone a day.

 

One by one the rest of his colleagues head home, leaving Bucky and Denise as the last inhabitants of the outreach. She pops out of her office towards the late afternoon, dropping a Baby Ruth bar onto his desk for the sugar hit.

 

"Do you need a ride home today?" Denise asks, leaning against the filing cabinet next to his desk. "I have my car with me."

 

"Aw, thanks, Dee, but no need. Steve's picking me up," Bucky says. He pauses, looking to be as casual as he can. "If you want, you could meet him?" He pairs it with a shrug, hoping the low buzz of nerves isn't giving him away too much.

 

Denise gives him a lovely smile and adjusts her dark-rimmed glasses. "The famous Steve of the spontaneous breakfasts? Absolutely."

 

Bucky grins back at her. "Okay. Well, he should be here around six or so."

 

"Perfect, I should be done by then." She heads back into her office and leaves Bucky to it.

 

_Bucky: ETA still 1800?_

_Steve: Confirm._

_Steve: I love it when you speak all 24hr time._

_Bucky: You love weird things._

_Steve: Weird things deserve love. Who will love them if not I?_

The phone calls don't stop, and the emails keep coming, and Bucky's neck is killing him. It's been on a stupid angle all day and the muscles are really starting to protest. He stretches it until it clicks as he files a report in the cabinet next to him.

 

Gradually the in tray's pile diminishes and the out tray's pile increases. It's the little things, but they're happening. And Bucky will admit, his constant texts with Steve are a source of encouragement.

_Bucky: so still not saving the world, I see._

_Steve: Your enthusiasm for wanting me to enter a battle zone is worrying._

_Steve: in actual fact, I'm observing one of the tac teams sit through a briefing by Tony about using 3D spatial technology to be able to see around corners and stuff._

_Bucky: You know what I mean! Also... that really sounds like a briefing you should be paying attention to. Just sayin'._

_Steve: Tony told me all this while tipsy three months ago. His delivery's suffered since then._

_Steve: Dexterity with powerpoint has improved, however._

_Bucky: Like Tony Stark uses powerpoint. Even he has standards._

At ten minutes to six, Bucky shuts his monitor off and rubs his eyes. He's had a minor headache building since four-thirty, and he thinks it might be time for an eye-test.

 

There is nothing else going to get done today that can't get done tomorrow. Bucky stretches his shoulders with a muffled groan, before finding his water bottle to take a large swig. His sweater had made it to the back of the chair, but now gets put back on as the sun's going down.

 

Bucky's phone chimes and he checks it, to see a message from Steve.

 

_Steve: Parked around the corner and I'm walking there now._

Bucky exhales in relief and makes sure his desk is tidy. He's underestimated how much he just wants to go _home._

 

Presently, there's a gentle knock on the window. Bucky looks up to see Steve outside, and he's hard-pressed to think of a more welcome sight. Unlocking the door, Steve steps in. He looks around shyly for anyone else, before moving right into Bucky's personal space and gathering him up in a firm hug.

 

Bucky wants to dissolve, it's just what he needs. He presses his face into Steve's neck and puffs out an exhausted breath.

 

"Everything okay?" Steve asks, rubbing a hand down Bucky's spine.

 

"Tired. Want home."

 

"You've gone mono-syllabic," Steve observes amusedly. He pulls away and brushes the backs of his fingers over one of Bucky's cheeks. "Wanna get out of here?"

 

Bucky doesn't answer save to bring their mouths together and kiss Steve deeply. It's not the place for it, but it's sorely needed. Bucky likes to think that in the future, when he's looking at this section of floor in the office on days like today, he'll remember making out with his awesome boyfriend and it'll be somewhat fortifying.

 

Bucky pulls away, mindful they're not completely alone in the office. He sinks his hands into Steve's and squeezes them. "Want a little tour?"

 

"Sure," Steve agrees. Bucky leads him around the office, pointing out the various meeting rooms and where his co-workers sit. He takes Steve to his desk, and watches Steve take in the little details with interest.

 

Apart from the mound of papers he seems to be drowning in, there is a nice selection of personal items there; his coffee mug proclaiming his fluency in movie quotes and sarcasm; a slightly wonky clay pencil cup painted orange, made by one of his former charges, a pencil drawing of a balloon with a smiley face and another with a quote proclaiming: 'Someone who thinks logically provides a nice contrast to the real world'.

 

There are also three photos on his desk in simple frames. One is a family photo from Rebecca and Nick's wedding, the second is a quite recent photo of Bucky balancing both Izzy and Bobby on his lap, reading Dr Seuss to them. The third is a group shot of Bucky with his original co-workers not long after he joined the outreach and they went on a team-building exercise. He likes that one a lot. He looks a little harried, and his hair is longer, but the smile is genuine, and he respects and admires every single person in that photo.

 

Steve looks over everything intently. He flicks a finger at the quote. "I like it," he grins.

 

"Courtesy of Becca," Bucky responds. "It appeals to me."

 

Bucky looks down the hall where he can see the door to Denise's office and gives a tired sigh. Steve glances at him, a small smile on his face. "If you'd rather save the introduction for another time, it's okay," he says disarmingly.

 

Bucky's tired, and he does just want to go home... but the office is so quiet right now, and he's not sure when another such a perfect opportunity will present itself given his awful schedule. He appreciates Steve's 'out', but an introduction will only take a minute. Bucky takes Steve's hand and leads him down the hall. He stops just outside Denise's door, and knocks on the frame lightly. Steve is next to him, but waits just outside the door for his cue.

 

Denise is sitting behind her desk, typing. She looks up immediately and smiles. "Time to go already?"

 

"You say that like it _wasn't_ a wretched slog uphill," Bucky smirks.

 

"It was. It's just now it's time to go home." She starts gathering her belongings, and Bucky clears his throat.

 

"Before you finish, I've got someone for you to meet." Before he can change his mind, Bucky pulls Steve into the room by his hand. He doesn't let go as they stand there.

 

Denise's attention is momentarily diverted, so she initially misses Steve walk in. When she does look up, Bucky sees the surprise that well and truly alights on her face.

 

Steve stands there holding Bucky's hand, every inch the all-American boy. Shoulders back, but not military parade stance. His fingers are interlaced with Bucky's, and they squeeze them a little tighter as Denise adjusts her glasses.

 

"It's very nice to meet you, Denise, I've heard a lot about you," Steve begins politely.

 

Denise seems unable to answer for a moment, and Bucky honestly doesn't blame her one bit. She looks at him, then Steve, eyes flicking down to their joined hands. He knows that Dee is a clinical thinker with an excellent memory, and she's probably going through every single thing she knows about Bucky's mystery boyfriend so far; the downturn in mood during the Geneva incident, looking after an 'injured Army buddy' just afterwards, all those personal anecdotes he shared when they went out for a drink...

 

"Likewise," she says carefully, "Save for one or two details." She rises from her chair and holds a hand out, which Steve takes immediately, dropping Bucky's hand to give hers a gentle shake. Bucky stifles a laugh when she sees Denise totally sizing Steve up in her typical appraising way. It's nerve-wracking not knowing what she's going to say, or how she's going to say it.

 

"So," she says with some measure of unflappable calm, "you're Bucky's Steve."

 

The smiles that grace both of their faces are, quite simply, ridiculous. Bucky feels his uncertainty vanish, and he can feel it in Steve, too.

 

Because she doesn't acknowledge Steve Rogers, or even Captain America first.

 

It's _Bucky's Steve._

 

"Yes, ma'am, I am," Steve says quite proudly, sliding an arm around Bucky's waist. Bucky doesn't know if he wants to cringe or start making out with him.

 

Denise rolls her eyes. "Oh, please don't call me that. I feel like you came close to calling me 'ma'am' on the phone once... I assume that _was_ you I was talking to?"

 

"Yes, on both accounts. I was trying to track him down because Bucky missed our date."

 

Denise looks reproachfully at Bucky. "You had a date and you let me leave early?"

 

" _You_ had an anniversary dinner to go to," Bucky reminds her, leaning into Steve, "kinda more important. Someone had to stick around with Tyler."

 

She harrumphs at him, as though the subject is still up for discussion, sitting on the corner of her desk. "Next time, tell me. We can Rock Paper Scissors for it, or something."

 

"Okay, okay," Bucky capitulates, rolling his eyes. He looks to Steve, who is watching the exchange in amusement.

 

"Are you the boss here, Denise?" Steve asks curiously.

 

She gives a little smile to Bucky. "To some, not to others. I started a little before Bucky did, and only worked part-time doing a few days at the beginning. Now I'm full-time, and I help co-ordinate things, but it's definitely a lot more democratic than autocratic here." She makes a gesture to Bucky. "Bucky runs a lot of his programs by me, as well as his scheduling, but that's more as a sounding board rather than me being necessary to green-light his work."

 

"Dee _did_ have a big hand in me getting this job, though. She was the one who recommended me, even though I was fresh out of my military retirement, and hadn't quite finished grad school," Bucky puts in.

 

"I'm glad," Steve says, turning to Bucky, "you're amazing at what you do."

 

"I agree," Denise says. "We really struck gold with Bucky. The kids respond well to him, and he's great with the parents, too. I think the job has been instrumental in integrating him firmly back into civilian life."

 

"The VA helped a lot, and so did you," Bucky says. He puts his hand over Steve's where it rests on his waist. "Dee specialises in dealing with Post Traumatic Stress cases," he explains, "so when I was still navigating the shitty emotional minefield of trying to adjust to being a civilian, she could help out." Bucky gives Denise a wry smile. "Sometimes before I even _realised_ she was helping me out."

 

Steve chews on his lip and frowns. "You don't take any PTSD cases yourself?" he asks, and Bucky shakes his head.

 

"Nope. I work best with at-risk pre-teens and teens. And I do some of the fun sessions as a balance."

 

"Forgive my ignorance, I thought that given your experience, you might be the perfect person for someone with PTSD to talk to," Steve says.

 

Bucky winces, screwing up his nose a little. "Yeah, well, what makes me perfect is also the thing preventing me from _really_ doing it."

 

Steve definitely looks confused. "I don't understand."

 

"What Bucky's trying to say, Steve, is that triggers for PTSD are funny things. Some of the kids we get through have very real and all-encompassing issues, and require stability to feel safe again. We have a duty to take into account the well-being of our therapists, as well.

 

"None of us are perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it could be overwhelming for a therapist also dealing with some of those elements. It might make them anxious while trying to help counsel someone. They could get unwittingly triggered by one of their charges, and that would _really_ put us all back at square one."

 

Steve's face is the very picture of attentiveness and concern. "I hadn't considered that."

 

Bucky squeezes his hand. "Look, ultimately anything can be a trigger, really. We don't have control over our brains when it comes to that, but it's not the worst idea to at least _try_ and limit the likelihood of it happening."

 

"As I said, Bucky's one of our assets. I would hate for his work to put his own mental health at risk," Denise concludes.

 

Steve nods effusively. "I can't agree more. Do you... do you get many child PTSD cases?"

 

Denise sighs. "More than I'd like. PTSD doesn't just occur with returned servicemen, it can be caused by any number of traumatic events: physical or sexual abuse, witnessing a terrible event like a death or a terrorist attack, being in a severe accident... we have a few children of refugees that witnessed horrible things on their way to seek asylum in the United States. Still more unreal circumstances like aliens coming out of the sky and taking out a good section of Midtown." Dee shakes her head. "I wasn't here for that event, but I'm sure many new cases popped up afterwards."

 

Bucky leans into Steve as he feels the blond's body tense up at the mention of the Battle of New York.

 

"Shit happens," he murmurs, "you didn't cause that." Steve's fingers tighten at Bucky's waist, but his posture relaxes a little.

 

He clears his throat and changes the subject. "Clearly you have your work cut out for you, then. And you've been so much busier lately."

 

Denise nods. "We have been. Perhaps Bucky's mentioned the closure of a similar outreach?" Steve nods gravely, and she continues. "We're working hard to secure enough funding to maybe hire some additional staff. Everyone's pulling extra shifts, and it's pretty draining. Bucky's practically doing five days in the office when he used to only have to do two or three here, or running programs, and a work-from-home day."

 

"Not permanently," Bucky argues. "Just until we get a little more help. I can handle it."

 

Denise looks like she doesn't believe him for a second, and maybe she's right to. The last few weeks _have_ been excessively taxing. She hasn't mentioned it in front of Steve, but Dee knows the reason he was doing less than full time is because when he first started working, it was all he could _handle._ Bucky's in a different mindset now, but his time has stayed the same because that workload works best for his life and his mental health wellbeing.

 

It doesn't affect him to do extra on a temporary basis, but when the days get longer and there's no foreseeable end in sight, that's when everything starts to wear a little thin.

 

"Well, I hope you get the funding you need to employ more staff soon," Steve says sincerely. "Buck's said you're a bit of a whiz at separating companies from their money for a good cause."

 

Denise smiles at them both, and puts her purse on her shoulder. "Despite how criminal that sounds, it's a very sweet compliment. I do try."

 

"You need it more than they do. Do you ever take volunteers for the programs that are a little more recreational?" he asks.

 

"If we have the right program, with enough kids, most definitely." She cocks her head to the side, mouth quirked up. "Why, you offering?"

 

Steve pauses for a moment, and that gets Bucky's undivided attention, both eyebrows raised. "Maybe," Steve says, giving Bucky a whimsical shrug.

 

Denise looks slightly incredulous. "I was joking... Are _you_ serious?"

 

Steve straightens up a little. "I am, yes."

 

Bucky's gaze flicks from Steve, to Dee, and then back to Steve. It's pretty left field, and not at all what he expected Steve to say. "Don't look at me, I didn't know," Bucky says, as mystified as Denise. He turns to Steve and pokes him in the side. "Nice bombshell. How long have you been sitting on this idea?" Because if Steve had been thinking of volunteering at Bucky's work, wouldn't it have made sense to run it by him instead of just announcing it?

 

"In real terms? Approximately one hour," he admits, and Bucky relaxes a little.

 

"Well, the sentiment is definitely appreciated," Denise says, and Bucky gives her mad props for her amazing diplomacy. "I understand you can be a pretty busy man, so if you're serious about doing it," she gives a little smile, her eyes twinkling, "you have the best man we've got to fill you in about our different programs. Then you can decide whether it's something you'd like to pursue."

 

"That sounds excellent," Steve says, and looks to Bucky, who can barely stifle a yawn. A large hand comes to rest on Bucky's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Come on. I think you need a quiet night and sleep."

 

"I think we all need that," Denise says.

 

They walk out of her office together, and Bucky unlocks the front door while Dee turns off the lights. Once everything's locked up, they stand on the curb. It's going dusk and there are a few clouds in the sky, making it a little darker.

 

Bucky's pressed up against Steve's body so they're not in the main thoroughfare of pedestrians. Denise looks to them both. "Well, I must be off; the husband has cooked dinner for me." She turns towards the blond. "It was so nice to meet you, Steve. I hope to see you again in the future." She puts her hand out for Steve to shake, and he does, though he leans in and adds a kiss to her cheek. Bucky has the sincere pleasure of seeing Denise's cheeks go a little red. She holds it together, though, she's a professional.

 

She turns to Bucky, a warm and heartfelt smile on her face, and pulls him into a hug. "See you tomorrow, Bucky. I expect to commandeer you for lunch; no arguments, and your treat."

 

Bucky gives her a squeeze. She'll want to give him a gentle grilling about Steve when he's not there, And Bucky's okay with that. She took the news so brilliantly, it's the very least he can do.

 

"It's a date," he promises, kissing her cheek as well. In a slightly softer voice, one that he's not one hundred per cent sure that Steve can't hear, he adds: "Thank you for being so cool with this."

 

"I haven't done anything," she says back, equally softly. "Thank you for trusting me enough to share."

 

Bucky pulls back, feeling warm and a little goopy inside.

 

"Denise, can we walk you to your car?" Steve asks, that little concerned frown he does that looks so goddamn earnest, on his face.

 

Dee laughs gently. "Thank you, but I'm only across the street." She points to a blue Honda parked on the opposite curb.

 

They say their farewells, waiting until Denise is in her car safely before they themselves start to walk in the direction of Steve's borrowed vehicle. Once again, Steve's hand finds its way to the small of his back, and Bucky's coming to love that placement.

 

"Well," he says with a little sigh, "that went well."

 

"It did," Steve agrees. "She's great."

 

"She is," Bucky says. "She knows her stuff, is experienced as hell, and takes exactly zero shit from _anyone_ , and at the same time, warm and thoughtful and smart."

 

"Sounds like you have a competence kink," Steve grins, pressing a brief kiss to the side of Bucky's head as they walk.

 

Bucky leans into Steve just that little bit more. "I kinda do, yeah."

 

Steve's hand curves around just a tiny bit more so that it rests on Bucky's waist. "That's good; so do I."

 

Bucky can't quite stop grinning like a bit of a loon. Maybe that's the reason for a few pedestrians crossing the street to walk on the opposite curb.

 

Steve detours on the way to the car to buy them both dinner at the good gyro place two blocks down, which is brilliant, because Bucky definitely doesn't have the enthusiasm to make himself anything remotely decent in the kitchen tonight.

 

The drive back to Bucky's apartment in Carroll Gardens is spent talking about their respective days, and Bucky desperately trying not to open his delicious-smelling gyro in the very expensive car and start eating.

 

Steve finds a parking spot half a block down from Bucky's building, and they waste no time in hot-footing it to the apartment.

 

Babushka greets Bucky warmly when he gets in; that is to say, she catches sight of him and meows that she's hungry. "I missed you, too, sweetheart," he says wryly. Bucky takes a couple of minutes to get her sorted, otherwise she will spend their entire dinnertime caterwauling at his feet.

 

In the meantime, Steve has put their gyros on plates, filled up two large tumblers full of water, and set everything up on Bucky's coffee table. Babushka's food trumps even Steve's presence, so she doesn't bother them as they settle down to have some dinner.

 

The gyros are stupidly messy and absolutely delicious. Bucky sighs as he takes a big bite, because the night is pretty much going exactly how he'd hoped. They eat in silence for a while, Bucky taking the edge off his hunger before he begins conversation.

 

"So," Bucky starts as he picks up a napkin to wipe sauce off his fingers, "are you going to tell me about this grand plan to volunteer at my outreach?"

 

"Well, it's not really a plan, yet. More an idea," Steve says, sucking the sauce off his own fingers with a slurp.

 

"So tell me your idea."

 

Steve puts his gyro down on the plate and finally uses a napkin. "I was thinking about all the times we've talked about your work, and how rewarding it sounds. I've done charity things before, but they're usually a little clinical and organised by SHIELD PR. That's not to say they're not worthwhile, but I'm usually in uniform and accompanied by a phalanx of reporters and photographers..." Steve cringes minutely at the recollection.

 

"I'd like to do something smaller, a little more personal. I can do lots of very good things as Captain America, but I'd also like to do good things as _Steve Rogers_ , too." He leans towards Bucky, resting his elbows on his knees. Bucky puts his gyro down and rests his face in his hand, listening intently. "I know you run sessions where you aren't necessarily counselling kids, but doing an activity with them, or taking them to the park or aquarium... If you think that's something that I could help out with, I'd really like to.

 

"I wouldn't want it to be like I'm stepping on your toes or anything, coming to your work," he adds quickly. "If it would be too weird for you, it's okay. But I thought that given I know you and now I've met Denise... maybe there's something I could do that's going to be about actually helping and not necessarily getting a press release?"

 

Bucky wants to shake his head mildly in disbelief. Because _how is he even real_. Steve watches him earnestly, waiting for a response.

 

"First of all," Bucky begins, "it wouldn't be weird for me to have you at work, so don't worry about that. I think Dee is already sold, so you're kind of halfway there." He gives Steve a little smile. "With those more fun sessions, we often have parents or guardians assisting, so that's definitely not unheard of."

 

"Oh, good. So it wouldn't be like you were bending rules just because it's me, then?" Steve clarifies.

 

"Right," Bucky confirms. "We do a lot of different things in those sessions... we sometimes do field trips to particular attractions -- like the aquarium -- but a lot of the time it's things that cost little to no money for the families. It's not a summer camp activity, you know? It's a recreational activity for kids who might be troubled. Not always, but often, that comes hand in hand with financial burdens."

 

"So, outdoor games? Trips to the park, that kind of thing?"

 

"Exactly," Bucky says. "But we try and balance it out with other creative or intellectual activities. Not every kid is good at or even _likes_ sports."

 

"That's true," Steve nods. "When I was growing up I could barely _play_ with all my ailments. I stayed home so much and just drew, and--" Steve stops in the middle of his sentence, eyes going wide. "Have you ever had an art program?"

 

Bucky cottons on very quickly. "We do have one, but haven't had anyone with artistic ability be involved for at least a year. Our resident artist kinda hit the big time and moved to England. I've run it a few times, and it works out okay," Bucky gives a self-deprecating grin, "when they see what I draw, no kid feels bad about their talent level. It's more about enjoyment and expression than producing stuff for MoMA, y'know? But we've not had a chance to find someone with actual ability to be involved, and that's a shame. If they could be _learning_ about art, too, that's the best, most enriching scenario." He pauses giving Steve a measured look. "This the sort of thing you'd be interested in helping out with?"

 

"Probably the best thing I'm qualified for, apart from ass-kicking," he jokes, before tapping his lips thoughtfully. "I would've thought Brooklyn would've been full of starving artists wanting to help."

 

Bucky shrugs. "Yes, it is. The root of the problem seems to be that they _are_ starving, and can't or won't agree to get on board when they know we can't pay them. Our budget just doesn't stretch far enough to pay said artist for their contribution. Unfortunately that seems to turn a lot of them off."

 

"That's pretty harsh," Steve frowns.

 

"I know how cheeky it is to ask them for their time and skill for free. Artists are forever getting asked to do stuff for nothing by douchebags, with payment in 'exposure'." Bucky makes quotation marks with his fingers. "I am asking them to donate their time and skill to kids, for a legitimate charity." He shrugs sadly. "I think most of 'em have been taken advantage of, so by the time we come along, we're lumped in with the 'want something for free' leeches."

 

"But it's for kids!" Steve protests again, and damned if his indignation isn't cute.

 

"It's not to say we don't _ever_ get any help, but the fact that it's not paid work tends to make it a bit low priority for some. We've had multiple cancellations from individuals before, which has made it disappointing for some of the kids. They still enjoy the outing and the ability to produce art, but they get the most out of someone with _experience_ being there to bounce their ideas off."

 

"That's one thing I'm worried about," Steve admits. "Reliability. I wouldn't want to let anyone down, and you know yourself how erratic my schedule can be."

 

Bucky picks up his half-eaten gyro. "We don't have to discuss it now, though. There'd be plenty of other details to iron out as well, including that one."

 

Steve mirrors his action, a thoughtful look on his face. "Okay. We definitely will talk about this later."

 

"Awesome. Because I, for one, am sick of talking about work and not eating this fucking amazing gyro."

 

"Eat your fucking gyro," Steve says gravely, making Bucky laugh. "And I'm sorry," he apologises, "no more work-talk tonight."

 

By the time they're finished eating and Steve's cleared away the dishes, Babushka has also finished and has jumped on the couch to be petted and generally worshipped. She gets quite a few pets, but the majority of Steve's handsiness is directed solely towards Bucky.

 

Bucky doesn't have a problem with this. Steve starts by sitting behind him and rubbing his shoulders. Somehow, he's able to apply just the right amount of pressure to dig into some stubborn knots and loosen them up. Bucky becomes so boneless he ends up slipping down on the sofa, Steve still behind him, rubbing warm fingers across his hipbone and kissing the back of his neck. It's relaxing and wonderful, until Bucky wakes with a snort.

 

"You fell asleep, Buck," Steve says gently, brushing some hair off Bucky's brow.

 

"M'ok, m'fine," Bucky croaks out, disorientated.

 

Steve kisses the back of his shoulder. "Maybe you should call it a night," he suggests. "You look wrecked."

 

"Wow, thanks, pal," Bucky gripes around a yawn. With a little effort he turns on the couch so he's facing Steve. He leans forward to kiss Steve sweetly. The contact gets Steve pulling Bucky flush to his body. Everything's warm and safe and happy here, and Bucky feels himself starting to drift again.

 

"Okay, you're definitely going to bed," Steve insists. He helps a bitterly-complaining Bucky onto his feet and ushers him towards the bedroom.

 

Once there, however, Bucky starts stripping off with no encouragement needed. Steve watches for a moment, helping with Bucky's shoes. There's a pair of soft flannel pajama pants under his pillow, which Bucky pulls on immediately.

 

"Do you need your phone for your alarm?" Steve asks.

 

Shit, yes. That would've made him late tomorrow. Again. "Yeah, I do. It's on the coffee table."

 

Steve leaves, and when he comes back, Bucky's already flat on his back on the mattress. He hands Bucky the phone, and Bucky has just enough mental fortitude to set it for tomorrow and plug it in before he has officially run out of steam.

 

Steve goes to lie next to him on the bed, albeit on his side. He runs a gentle hand through Bucky's hair. "Big day, huh?"

 

"Big forty-eight hours," Bucky corrects, eyes closed.

 

"Well, at least you'll be able to get more sleep tonight," Steve offers.

 

Bucky sticks his bottom lip out a little. "I'd _rather_ be doing other stuff. But we'd just end up in the same position tomorrow."

 

He hears Steve's soft chuckle a lot closer to his face, just before feeling the blond's lips skim his cheekbone. "So let's wait until the weekend. I don't have anything planned on Saturday."

 

Bucky sighs. Being an adult fucking sucks. But the thought of spending the weekend with Steve, where they can spend good portions of it naked and without work commitments, pleases him exceedingly.

 

"My place or yours?" Bucky asks, his eyes opening in slits.

 

"Let's go with whoever has the best-stocked fridge," he smiles.

 

"So me, then," Bucky states, and Steve cups his face to kiss him properly.

 

"You, then," Steve whispers right over his mouth. It's not a special or a romantic thing to say, but nevertheless, it makes Bucky shiver with the promise of things to come.

 

He wraps his arm around Steve's neck, pressing his forehead into Steve's cheek. "You should probably go before I won't let you," Bucky admits.

 

"Worse places to be trapped," Steve says, but he gently disengages Bucky's arms anyway. He kisses Bucky sweetly on the forehead. "I'll write you tomorrow," Steve says.

 

"You better," Bucky slurs a little. Steve bids him farewell and heads out, and Bucky dimly hears his front door close.

 

About a minute later, a tiny, furry body pads onto his mattress to take up residence at his shoulder, Bucky pats Babushka absently before turning off his lamp, to tired to be mad that his cat hasn't even seen fit to wait until he's asleep to begin her nightly quest for dominance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhmmm... surprise...? 
> 
> * John's of 12th Street is a real restaurant, and has been around since 1908. If you look it up on google, check out the photos because it really does seem like the kind of place Steve would like. It's not super fancy, it's just nice. 
> 
> Apparently, this is my only note. 
> 
> With so much love and thanks to Sarah for kicking this in the ass once again. She is totally amazing. PLEASE COME BACK AND LIVE WITH ME FOREVAH. 
> 
> I'm going to try and catch up on a lot of comments and such. If i've made any mistakes, they are unintentional, please let me know! If you felt like you'd like to leave me a comment, oh my god, please feel free. They've been amazing. You guys are amazing. Thanks everybody <3 Until next time!
> 
> PS. date outfits, for those of you playing at home:
> 
> Bucky (sans hat): http://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/s480x480/e35/c0.78.624.624/13703195_296818800670243_867230071_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=MTMwMDA5MzI2MTIzODc0NDAzOA%3D%3D.2.c
> 
> Steve (sans chin floof): https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/38/ce/59/38ce59013e1c4a26958abdeab882a6d8.jpg


	12. Dating (week 11 - redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Morning-After Redo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to more ridiculously cute boys navigating a relationship :D Thank you so much for your continued support of this fic. I have the best time writing it, and when I see those emails about kudos and comments in my inbox... well, it's pretty exciting, let me tell you :) So thank you, and if you have the time, I would love to hear from you.
> 
> As ALWAYS, this chapter just wouldn't be possible without Sarah. She completes me. <3

**The One With The Morning-After Redo**

**( _Location: Bucky's apartment)_**

****

 

It starts in Bucky's fingertips; a little twitch here or a little flex there, usually happening in the moments before he opens his eyes.

 

But he doesn't open his eyes just yet... he takes those moments and makes the most of them. Feels the familiar cool sheets beneath and above him, the warmth of the sun from his window on his bare shoulder, the scent of his favourite detergent on his pillowcase, along with a slight depression that can only be Babushka. The certainty that it's Saturday, and what's more, a Saturday where he _doesn't have to be anywhere and it's amazing_.

 

Bucky smiles as he blinks his eyes open. Everything is familiar and nothing hurts.

 

Or rather, they do hurt, but in eminently good ways. He subtly stretches, feeling a twinge in his lower back, and quads.

 

It had been one of the most eventful weeks he'd had in a very long time, including but not limited to having Steve meet his family, working long hours and clocking up his fair share of overtime, a mid-week date and an unexpected progressing of their relationship. _Then_ of course there was introducing Steve to his co-worker and having a big discussion about him possibly contributing to his work in some fashion... Bucky was exhausted and had been ready to be a hermit all weekend.

 

He'd gotten home on Friday, immediately changed into a soft t shirt and pajama pants and parked himself on the sofa. Bucky hadn't been home for an hour before his doorbell rang.

 

Cautious and irritated, he opened the door to Steve, who was standing in the hall, clutching an overnight bag. He wastes no time in crowding Bucky back into his apartment and kissing him senseless, dropping the bag by the door.

 

It seemed that Steve took Bucky having Saturday off very seriously, and Bucky's irritation vanished.

 

"I was going... to call you..." Bucky said in between frantic kisses, breath hitching when Steve's hands slipped under the elastic at the back of his pajamas, gripping his bare ass tight.

 

"Couldn't wait," Steve replied, voice already kind of wrecked.

 

Steve carried him into his bedroom, and proceeded to occupy Bucky thoroughly until his stomach began making noises neither of them could ignore. Not in the mood to prepare anything, Bucky called for pizza, and reluctantly put pants on when the doorbell rang.

 

It really was something else to sit crosslegged on his bed, with pizza boxes in between them, Steve bare-chested -- bare _everything_ , really -- and feeding Babushka stringy bits of mozzarella. If he were more prone to sentimentality, he'd say that his entire acquaintance with Steve had been leading to this moment of perfection.

 

It was satisfying, and then Steve discarded pizza boxes and left greasy fingerprints on his sheets and climbed up over him, and satisfying was redefined once again.

 

Bucky sighs. He doesn't mind that he was kept up late, because he could sleep in this morning; which is what he has done, to great success.

 

Turning over in bed, he startles mildly when he comes face to face with the wall of muscle that is Steve. His boyfriend is sleeping on his stomach, arms bent to have hands shoved underneath the pillow. There's a divot on Steve's pillow as well, leading Bucky to believe that Babushka has spent at least part of the night sleeping there, too.

 

Bucky looks up to see the cat curled up on his pillow, one eye open and watching him.

 

"You're kind of a traitor," Bucky says in a low voice. Babushka merely yawns and closes her eye.

 

Bucky turns his attention back to Steve. It's not that he forgot Steve spent the night -- _how could he_ \-- it's just that with the exception of the very first night Bucky watched over Steve after he busted his ankle, Steve's always been awake and disgustingly accomplished by the time Bucky rouses.

 

It's nice to watch him being relaxed; it's especially nice to appreciate him in the context of Bucky's home, his bedroom. This place is his sanctuary, and he's used to sleeping in, but it's a lovely surprise to see Steve there this time.

 

With the tiniest bit of drool sneaking out of the corner of his mouth.

 

Bucky bites his lip. Ohh, but there's no physical way he can let this slide.

 

The only problem is, his phone is resting on the bedside, which is closest to Steve. This makes his task difficult, but not impossible.

 

With slow movements, Bucky pushes himself up onto his knees, shuffling a little closer. If he's incredibly careful, he can lean across and reach his phone and--

 

Bucky's knee slips, brushing Steve's side. Steve's eyes snap open and he twists onto his back, pulling Bucky down to lie on top of him. Babushka jumps off the bed with an annoyed meow.

 

Steve's grinning and Bucky knows now he never could've won. "How long were you awake for?"

 

"Since you called Bushka a traitor," Steve answers smugly. One hand stays on Bucky's hip, the other one drifts up to gently cup the back of his neck. Steve exerts the faintest pressure there, so minute Bucky could easily resist, but he doesn't want to. He leans down so their chests are flush to one another, buries his fingers in Steve's hair, and kisses him.

 

It's just the way he wanted to wake up, morning breath be damned. Skin on skin, with the tiniest feel of slipperiness as their close proximity has their bodies producing more heat. Bucky's erection digs into the crease between Steve's thigh and groin, and he can't help but move his hips a little, creating tantalising friction.

 

Steve's kisses are gentle and measured, his energy matching the tone of the morning. Bucky's left hand leaves Steve's hair to drift down, working its way between them to curl as best it can around both their erections. There's a sharp intake of breath from Steve, exhaling into a pleasant moan as Bucky starts a slow tug.

 

There's no urgency, no rush. It's lazy and a little messy, but Bucky likes that he can rut up against Steve like a teenager because it's his bed and his apartment and his goddamn boyfriend.

 

Steve says Bucky's name softly into his mouth; their lips touch, but half the time they're not even kissing. It's just that they're so close, they're breathing the same air. Bucky likes being so near to Steve that he can see the detail in his irises, take note of the very light freckles around his eyes, the way that Steve bites his lower lip at a particularly long tug from Bucky's hand.

 

It lasts longer than he expects, but shorter than he'd like. Bucky tenses, hand stuttering in its movements, his face falling to the side to rest in the crook of Steve's shoulder. He feels wetness and warmth between them, but doesn't stop the slow, long, pull until Steve lets out a muffled groan.

 

The twitching coil of tension that has been building in Steve's body like a rubber band being stretched, snaps. Beneath him, Bucky can feel Steve go a little boneless and sink into his mattress.

 

Bucky pushes himself up a little way from Steve's shoulder, to look down at him. Steve's sweat-damp hair is a mess from Bucky running his hands through it, there's a high blush to his cheeks, and his eyes are heavily-lidded slits of blue.

 

Bucky's not sure he's ever seen anything quite so fucking magnificent in his life.

 

Steve's mouth curves into a lazy smile. "Good morning," he says belatedly, and all Bucky can do is laugh and roll off him.

 

The one thing TV shows fail to talk about very much is how actually _messy_ sex is. Both he and Steve are quite a sight, and despite what porn would have you believe, it's not necessarily always hot, either. Sometimes it's just uncomfortable and a little gross. Bucky knows he's going to have to wash his sheets, but he doesn't necessarily want to wipe his hand on them, either. He's not a fucking frat boy.

 

"I'll be right back," Steve says, pressing a quick kiss to Bucky's lips and rolling off the bed. Bucky enjoys watching Steve's naked ass as he pads out of the bedroom. He hears the faucet in the bathroom run, and presently, a much cleaner Steve re-enters the bedroom with a washcloth dampened with warm water. He doesn't let Bucky take it, however in an almost embarrassingly intimate move, chooses to lie next to him and gently wipe any mess away personally.

 

Ditching the washcloth, Steve then motions for Bucky to join him further into the centre of the bed. They arrange themselves comfortably, Steve's head almost completely tucked under Bucky's chin, who has both arms around the blond's shoulders. Their legs just sort of tangle up and around together.

 

Steve lets out a huge, relaxed sigh, and Bucky gives a husky chuckle. "This is how I would've preferred Thursday morning go," Bucky says, thinking back to what actually happened with its panic and rushing (and Steve keeping calm and driving him to work).

 

"I can't say I disagree," Steve mumbles into Bucky's collarbone, "but I apparently like any morning with you, regardless of how it goes."

 

"Wow, Steve... that's incredibly... what's the word I want?"

 

"Sweet?" Steve suggests.

 

"Lame," Bucky answers. He laughs when Steve pinches his side.

 

"You really are somewhat of an asshole," Steve grumbles without heat.

 

"Just somewhat," Bucky answers, chuckling. They lapse into silence for a few moments, and Bucky takes to running his fingers through Steve's hair. With his crazy workload and feeling increasingly worn around the edges, it's just so very pleasant to have this moment, and really appreciate it.

 

"This is so nice," Steve murmurs, as if reading Bucky's thoughts. Bucky's hand pauses in Steve's hair and he smiles, before continuing the rhythmic stroking.

 

"The hair rubbing? Or the cuddling? Or the sex?" Bucky asks amusedly. "Narrow it down, Steve."

 

Steve shifts against him, shuffling up so he's more face-to-face. "Can it be all three?" he asks seriously.

 

"It can," Bucky replies, equally as gravely.

 

Steve smiles and leans forward a little, but Bucky is the one to bridge the gap and join their mouths together. They kiss for a while, just enjoying being near one another. Bucky reasons he may've clocked more time now purely necking with Steve than he has with anyone else in his life.

 

Breaking away from Bucky's lips, Steve trails his mouth tenderly down the side of Bucky's jaw, running over the sharp angle to plant a feather light kiss in the shallow, stubbly cleft of his chin.

 

"Not going to lie; this is my favourite part of your whole face," he says quietly, as if imparting a secret.

 

Bucky looks at him for a moment, speechless, before dissolving into husky laughter.

 

"Do you have a problem shaving it?" Steve asks, his fake straight face killing Bucky.  
  
"It's okay," Bucky smirks, rubbing his index finger over his chin, "about as difficult as it is for you to make shitty 'Great Depression' era jokes."

 

"My Great Depression jokes are amazing. You have no appreciation for them because you're a philistine."

 

Bucky arches a brow. "Philistine, huh?" Steve nods. With slow, deliberate movements, Bucky leans in close. He hears Steve's quick intake of breath as his lips graze the blond's ear. "Tough talk from the naked guy in my bed," Bucky breathes, before latching his teeth to Steve's earlobe and giving a gentle tug.

 

Steve stifles a moan, squeezing at Bucky's bicep. "Fight me," he murmurs when he has Bucky's attention, hitching one leg up over Bucky's hip to bring them closer together once again. The next few minutes are once again lost to sweet, hot kisses.

 

Breaking away when he needs air, Bucky laughs gently and rests his hand on Steve's waist, while Steve brushes a lock of hair from Bucky's forehead. His smile is no longer cheeky and self-aggrandising, but soft and almost pleasantly surprised. "Penny for your thoughts?" Bucky asks curiously.

 

Steve takes a moment, seemingly choosing his words. "I'm just realising that I've never had an opportunity like this before," he says slowly.

 

"I'm not sure I understand."

 

"Lying in bed with the person I'm seeing... just... enjoying your company and not being rushed and--" Steve stops, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know. Everything."

 

Bucky rubs a thumb over the smooth skin of his waist. Steve's had quite a few firsts in the last week, this seems to be another. While he's quite adamant that he's not Steve's counsellor, as his boyfriend, he wants to check in and make sure nobody's boundaries are being pushed.

 

"And are you okay with how everything's going so far?" Bucky asks carefully. "If you are happy, that's awesome. If there's been things happen in ways you didn't expect -- too fast, to slow -- we can talk about them."

 

Steve almost looks surprised. "Of course! It's been... Buck, it's been _wonderful_ ," he enthuses, and the level of passion he puts into that endorsement is enough to make Bucky's skin get a little hot. "I wondered what it would be like to just be with someone in a relaxed way like this..." Steve trails off, looking stupidly shy for a moment. "And now I know." Bucky's chest seemingly expands with a feeling of affection that he's recognising belongs to Steve specifically.

It's such a sweet admission, and Bucky's not sure words could do a reply justice, so instead he reaches out to enfold Steve in his embrace again, which Steve enters willingly.

 

"Are _you_ happy?" Steve mumbles out a few moments later.

 

"Very," Bucky answers immediately, rubbing his cheek against Steve's. "I basically consider myself too old to not do things or be around people that don't make me happy anymore."

 

"Well if _you're_ too old for that, what does that make me?" Steve wonders, and Bucky laughs.

 

He doesn't answer, save to press little kisses to the soft skin beneath Steve's ear. A hand comes to rest on the back of Bucky's head, fingers grazing the sensitive short hairs at the base of his skull with little, encouraging strokes.

 

Bucky presses forward, revelling in the sheer area of skin-body contact they have right now. If he thinks about it, he can't remember if he's ever just lain in bed with someone naked, when it wasn't directly moving towards sex. Sure, he and Steve had already slept together that morning, and undoubtedly would do so again, but to spend the intervening time just being close with no cloth barriers and no expectation of things they _should_ be doing... it's not like anything Buck's experienced at all.

 

He gets that very specific Steve-affection feeling in his chest cavity once again.

 

"So I just had an idea," Steve says out of the blue, shaking Bucky out of his train of thought and getting him to pause in his ministrations.

 

"Your naked ideas are usually good," Bucky murmurs, with a chuckle in response from Steve.

 

"I have a lot to live up to, then, so stop me if this is a bad one..." He takes a deep breath before speaking. "How would you feel about going away with me somewhere?"

 

Steve puts his hands on Bucky's shoulders and gently pulls him back so they can look at one another. Bucky gives Steve a curious expression.

 

"You want me to go away with you?" he asks to clarify.

 

"Yeah. For a weekend, or something?" Steve winces. "I'm not really sure we've hit the specific time that is the official 'going away for a weekend' milestone, or if there even _is_ one. You know I've not had a relationship that's progressed to this stage, so I'm kind of flying blind..." There's a vague, vulnerable hesitance to Steve's statement that twangs at Bucky's heart.

 

"For the record, you're doing excellently so far," Bucky puts in, and is on the receiving end of a sweet and hopeful Steve smile. "And I don't think there's a milestone, per se, just when it feels right."

 

Steve brushes his knuckles softly over Bucky's cheekbone. "Well, it feels right to me, now. I'm just thinking about how nice it is to wake up next to you and feel relaxed... it'd probably be ten times better away from here where we don't have to worry about work, or responsibilities, or your adorable cat watching us feel each other up."

 

Bucky gives him a little grin. "I am not opposed to going somewhere where Bushka can't see us grind on each other. It's just not right." He leans forward and presses a sweet kiss to Steve's lips. "When my work is out of the red zone, get some time off, and we'll do it."

 

Steve lights up like a miniature sun, showing two rows of perfect, white teeth. "Yeah?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky answers confidently, "of course."

 

The idea that Steve wants to go away with him somewhere is nice. Well, it's more than nice, it's _awesome._ Bucky's not sure when it might happen, but it's definitely something to look forward to, maybe even help push him through the mounds of ridiculous and necessary paperwork he finds himself doing.

 

"Do you think your work's going to slow down anytime soon?" Steve asks curiously, "because it seems as though it's just steadily busy right now."

 

Bucky sighs. In a way, he wishes Steve hadn't brought it up, because he'd been enjoying a few minutes not thinking about his crushing workload. But it's Steve being stupidly earnest and concerned, so of course he's not going to mention that. "Being honest, it's probably not going to let up anytime before Halloween," he says grimly.

 

Steve's lips tighten in commiseration. "I'm sorry about that... oh, actually, you've reminded me of something. Do you have Halloween weekend plans?"

 

"I have nothing scheduled past lunchtime on the 31st so I can go to Becca's and take the kids trick-or-treating. It's Izzy's first Halloween, and I'm really looking to forward to taking her out." Bucky can't help but grin. "Becca got her this little skeleton onesie, and it's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen. It came with a mask, but she won't keep it on, so Becca thinks she's just going to draw some skull markings with eyeliner on her cheeks, or something."

 

Steve gives Bucky a soft smile. "That sounds great. What's my new best friend, Bobby, going to be?"

 

"Last I heard he was either going to be a Ninja Turtle, or a garbage man." Bucky shrugs. "What is it about little kids and the garbage men? Anyway, that particular costume would allow him to carry his truck around all night. You know the one."

 

"I do," Steve nods gravely. "We bonded over that truck."

 

Bucky stretches, feeling a delightful ache in his shoulders. "Yeah, so that's the plan. I am going to err on the side of the Turtles and wear a costume shirt and bandana and beanie." He casts a curious eye to Steve. "What about you? Is Halloween much of a thing for you, or...?"

 

"Sometimes," Steve says. "It wasn't very big when I was growing up... more an excuse for hoodlums in the neighbourhood to play pranks on houses." He brushes his fingers down Bucky's arm absently. "Nowadays it looks like a lot more fun, but I've never really done much for it, personally. More often than not, Tony drags me to these big parties he throws."

 

"I can only imagine what those must be like," Bucky murmurs.

 

"Maybe you don't have to imagine?" Steve says questioningly, and winces when Bucky's gaze snaps to him immediately. "Tony's having one again this year. It's going to be part-charity ball and part-costume party. I am doing the first half that's the charity component in an official capacity, but after that... I thought maybe..." Steve starts to trail off, and Bucky realises it's because his face is doing this elaborate descent into a frown. He visibly works at smoothing his forehead and not looking so negative.

 

"Maybe what?" he prompts softly, intertwining his fingers with Steve's.

 

Steve exhales, willing to go on. "Maybe you'd want to be my date for the second half?"

 

Bucky chews on his lip. "I already promised Becca I was definitely not missing Izzy's first trick or treating--"

 

"I wouldn't want you to risk Becca's wrath," Steve gently interrupts, giving him a rueful smile. "Besides, it sounds like you're really looking forward to trick or treating with your family. The party is actually the weekend before on the Saturday night. Not Halloween night, because that's a Monday."

 

"Huh." Bucky mashes the side of his face into his pillow and exhales noisily. The idea of a Tony Stark party is daunting. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious, but it's really not his kind of scene.

 

Steve has asked him to be his date, though.

 

Steve. The stupid dork who is trying to make sure he's hitting all the right couple milestones has asked him to be his date for a party.

 

Bucky's not that much of a heel, he can't say no to _that_.

 

He opens his mouth to answer when his cell phone rings. Steve's eyebrows go up expectantly. "Hold that thought," Bucky says, reaching for the device.

 

He frowns when the caller ID tells him it's Denise. Denise only texts information, and calls when something big is happening. Or there's something wrong.

 

Bucky sits up in bed with his back to the headboard, and answers the phone. "Dee? Is everything okay?"

 

"Hi, Bucky. Yes, everything's fine. I'm sorry I don't normally call you on your days off," she apologises.

 

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair and adjusts the sheets that have pooled in his lap. Steve's hand has come to rest on his knee tentatively, and Bucky pats it to let him know everything's okay.

 

"That's okay, good to hear everything's fine. What's up?"

 

There's a slight pause on the end of the line, which makes Bucky sit up a bit straighter. There's definitely something going on. It might not be a bad something, but a something nonetheless.

 

"I know this is a very strange request, but it's regarding the conversation Steve, myself and you had on Thursday about him volunteering. There's a couple of things I'd like to discuss with him, but I wasn't sure of the best way to get into contact."

 

"Oh? Anything I can help with?" Bucky asks, fishing for information.

 

"Not really," she says sadly, "but if it wasn't intruding, perhaps you could tell me the how to get in touch with him, or even give him my number?"

 

Bucky hesitates, and Denise presses on. "You know I will hold yours and his privacy in the highest regard. I wouldn'tve called, save that this is a matter of some importance, and--"

 

"It's okay, Dee, I trust you." Bucky pauses and looks to Steve, who is watching him with something approaching concern. "Steve's here, I can ask him." That comment sends Steve's eyebrows skyrocketing to his hairline.

 

Denise doesn't sound surprised. "If it's not a bad time, that'd be great."

 

Bucky holds the phone away from them both, and covers the microphone. "Dee wants to know if she can speak to you, it's something about the volunteering. Do you want to talk to her?"

 

Steve pushes himself up from where he'd been leaning on his elbow into a sitting position. He looks puzzled, but nods. "Sure."

 

Bucky hands him the phone and sits back on the headboard, trying not to look terribly like he's eavesdropping.

 

"This is Steve, Denise," Steve greets in a friendly manner. He makes some small talk with her, and Bucky can glean he's confirming he's not being disturbed, and telling her he's well... regular polite banter. Then Steve starts to listen intently, and a thoughtful frown starts to come over his face, as he concentrates on Denise's conversation carefully.

 

Steve starts to move, clambering around and fishing for his clothes, because this conversation apparently necessitates the need to not be naked. Bucky watched with something close to amusement as Steve feels around the covers and then his clothes dumped on the ground for particular articles, bare ass waving about.

 

He excuses himself from Denise and holds his hand over the receiver. "Bucky, do you know where my underwear is?"

 

Bucky shrugs. "You got yourself out of them, I have no idea."

 

He curses a little, and keeps feeling around for them.

 

Bucky figures maybe Steve wants clothes, so he can be polite and leave the room to have his conversation. But Steve's also stubborn, and if he's got his mind set to finding one particular article, he won't stop until he's got it.

 

Bucky can solve this problem. He gets up and retrieves a pair of his sweatpants dumped on the other side of his nightstand and pulls them on. "You stay here, I'll go out and start breakfast."

 

The stress-frown that's started to appear on Steve's head lightens. "Okay," he says in relief.

 

Bucky shoots him a sloppy salute and shuffles out of his bedroom, gently shutting the door behind him. After taking a minute to freshen up in the bathroom, he heads out to the kitchen to see what he can rustle up for food. The coffee maker is turned on immediately, and a poke in the fridge finds him pulling out a carton of eggs and the frying pan.

 

Scrambled eggs will be enough to take the edge of hunger for himself and Steve, but it'll probably be nice if they go out and get something heartier somewhere... maybe even visit the farmer's market again and stop at the food trucks that are stationed around.

 

Bucky plugs the toaster in at the outlet and puts in four slices of bread. He's humming to himself and pouring a hell of a lot of whisked eggs into the heated pan when he hears the bedroom door open.

 

"Do you like your eggs on the runny side, or a bit firmer?" he asks without looking up. Steve doesn't answer, so Bucky glances his way, and a few of the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

 

Steve's standing at the entrance to the kitchen in a t shirt and sweat pants, still with the phone in his hand, covering the receiver.

 

Bucky would've thought he'd be off the phone by now, surely Denise couldn'tve had _that_ much to talk about... unless there's something else? "Steve, is everything okay?" he asks warily, hand on the spatula pausing.

 

Steve heads into the kitchen and gently takes the spatula out of Bucky's hand, at the same time, handing him back the cell phone. "You talk, I'll stir." He kisses Bucky on the cheek and immediately focuses on the pan on the stove.

 

Bucky sees that the call is still connected. He shoots Steve a circumspect look, before stepping out of the kitchen. "Dee, you still there?"

 

"Yes, Bucky," she answers.

 

"What the hell's going on?" he asks bluntly.

 

"Sorry for the cloak and dagger, but I just wanted to find out a little bit of information from Steve, first," she says.

 

" _What_ information?" Bucky presses, flicking a glance to Steve. Steve knows he's watching, but keeps his eyes cast down on the pan.

 

"You know that I sent off a few proposals for some grants to some big-name corporate companies last month," she begins.

 

"Yeah, I remember."

 

"Did I tell you exactly which companies?"

 

Bucky thinks for a moment. "No, I don't recall that you mentioned names. Just a few around the burroughs; two in Brooklyn and one in Manhattan, I think?"

 

"That's right," Denise confirms. "What I hadn't gotten around to mentioning was that Manhattan business was actually Stark Industries."

 

" _Stark Industries_?" Bucky parrots incredulously, eyes flicking immediately to Steve. Steve looks to Bucky at his surprised tone, flashing him a shy smile before turning back to the stove. "Since when have they been offering up grant money for outreaches?"

 

"They've been branching out into more and more community projects in the last few years. I've been keeping my eye on them, but this is the first time we've met their requirements for what they were offering. I felt like we had a really good case for the money, and so I submitted a proposal to them.

 

"This morning, I got a call from Ms Pepper Potts, congratulating us on our successful bid," Denise says, and Bucky can hear the contained excitement in her voice. "The grant's actually been won by us and a hospice for homeless veterans who require ongoing medical treatment in Jersey, but rather than split the amount in half, the Howard and Maria Stark Foundation -- which is what the charitable wing of Stark Industries is called -- just doubled it. So each of us still gets the same."

 

Bucky feels like he needs to pick his jaw up off the floor. A heaviness settles in the pit of his stomach. It's almost _too_ serendipitous, _too_ coincidental. Steve is still making breakfast, but Bucky can feel him watching him out of the corner of his eye. "Why did you want to speak to Steve?" he asks, still confused about that part of the story.

 

"Curiosity, mostly," Denise replies. "Obviously, when I applied, I didn't realise I was only a couple of degrees of separation from Stark Industries. After the call today, and having met Steve on Thursday, I wondered if maybe he'd played a part in us getting it."

 

Bucky's jaw twitches. Steve's got his back to Bucky now, finishing up the coffee, as though he's purposefully trying to not distract Bucky from the conversation. "And what was the response?" he asks in a low, even voice. The idea that Steve might've had something to do with them getting the grant is an ethical minefield he really doesn't want to set foot in if he can help it. He hopes like hell he doesn't _have_ to.

 

"He said he didn't know about the grant at all until I told him about it," Denise responds.

 

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn't even realised he'd begun to hold. He's got no reason to doubt Steve's or Denise's words; Bucky considers both of these individuals highly trustworthy. Running a hand through his hair, Bucky watches as Steve finishes off their breakfast preparations, relieved in the knowledge that all that time Steve had been picking his brain about how his outreach works in the last week wasn't some sort of well-meaning deception.

 

"Okay, okay. So we have money now..."

 

"--A _lot_ of money--" Denise adds, and Bucky lets out a little laugh.

 

"How much is 'a lot'?" Bucky queries.

 

"Two hundred and fifty thousand," Denise answers, and Bucky nearly chokes on his sharp intake of air.  
  
"Holy _shit_ ," he breathes, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, a _lot_ of money," Bucky corrects himself. "What's the next step? I'm assuming you already have ideas."

 

"You know me," Denise says with a smile in her voice, "always prepared. For starters, we can start recruiting new counsellors straightaway."

 

"That'd be great," Bucky says, although the hiring process is going to be a bit of a bitch. It'll be worth it.

 

"Of course you know, that's going to take a little time, getting the right people," Denise adds, as though reading Bucky's mind. "But something we can do to immediately alleviate some of the stress on the office is get someone in to help with the paperwork and upkeep of files, data entry, etc."

 

"That should be a little easier to fill; they don't need any specific experience with kids, just office experience," Bucky muses.

 

"Remember our intern out of high school from last year?"

 

Bucky perks up immediately. She'd been a lovely girl, smart as a whip and hardworking. "Vanessa?"

 

"That's her. She called me a month ago to say if we ever had any work available for her, she'd love to leave her current employment to do it. She's studying social work at college, and is available at least three full days a week to come and help as a general office assistant."

 

"She's also worked here before, so she knows our systems, and we like her, so we can hire immediately without going through the motions of interviewing other randoms," Bucky finishes, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

 

"Exactly," Denise enthuses. "She's also ready to start this week, if we want her."

 

Bucky thinks to the stacks of files he's still trying to complete, and how it's sending him cross-eyed sitting at his computer for so long. The idea it's no longer solely up to him to do is delicious. "That's amazing."

 

"You're telling me. And since she'll likely be able to join us by the end of this week, all that time you'd set aside to do the follow-up filing and spreadsheets next weekend is rendered unnecessary."

 

Bucky blinks slowly. "Dee?" he asks, confused.

 

"Your special skills aren't actually needed for that -- frankly, very boring -- job, and you've been working well over your contract. Congratulations, Bucky, you now have next Thursday to Monday off."

 

Bucky shakes his head. "Dee, I can't take vacation time now, when we'll have so much to d--" he starts to dispute, but Denise hushes him quickly.

 

"Bucky," she says softly. There's something in Denise's tone that says stop arguing. "You've been working a lot longer, and it's starting to show." He winces, partly due to the fact that he knows it's true. Bucky flicks a quick glance to Steve, wondering if he's picking up on any of the conversation, or even whether he's picked up on how tired Bucky's getting. Though if he hasn't, it's not his fault: Steve's not as familiar with his quirks as Denise is. If Steve can hear anything, he's steadfastly pretending he can't. Bucky appreciates the illusion of privacy that Steve's giving him for this private matter.

 

The thing is, Bucky loves his job. But in the last few months it's been an uphill battle, and it's starting to wear a little thin. Out of hours meetings, the stressors of Steve getting injured as well as meeting his family, less downtime, and some sleepless nights, have not made for the kindest mindset.

 

While Steve was away receiving accolades with Sam in DC, Bucky'd had a bad night, but didn't get around to calling Benjamin, or even telling Steve about it. There just seemed no point when he could parse exactly why it happened; he knows it comes from exhaustion, knows that he's burning the candle at both ends.

 

"It's important that you're well-rested the week after next, because I'll put out the call for counsellors on Monday, and I'm going to need you in on the interviews afterwards." Dee's voice breaks Bucky out of dwelling on his mental state.

 

Bucky gives a good-natured groan. "Why do you always have me in on interviews?"

 

"If they can get past your thousand-yard stare, they'll be tough enough to work here," Denise says, a grin evident in her voice. "Also, we'll have to pick candidates for the Halloween party."

 

Bucky freezes for a moment. "What party?" he asks carefully.

 

"Oh, okay. So the announcement for the winners of the grant is going to happen at some big shindig at the Avengers Tower the Saturday before Halloween. Ms Potts would like for us to pick out some kids and their families who would be great examples of the work we do to attend. Representatives and vets from the hospice will be there, too. They'll get to dress up in costume, be picked up in a limousine and taken to Manhattan where they'll meet the Avengers, as well." Denise pauses for a moment. "They need a few outreach workers there to chaperone, as well as receive the grant, and I thought maybe you might like to be one of them? If it's something you would be comfortable doing."

 

Bucky chews on his bottom lip. It's an interesting predicament to be in. He was just invited to the party by Steve, but more for the second part. Steve seemed to think that Bucky wouldn't want to see the pomp and circumstance of an official Avengers charity meet and greet. Well, it just might happen anyway, now.

 

The question is, can he attend the party in both capacities? As a representative of his workplace first, and then afterwards, as Steve's date?

 

He doesn't realise he's fallen silent until Denise asks if he's still on the line.

 

"Yes, sorry," Bucky apologises, "just... thinking." He glances at Steve, who is stirring some creamer into Bucky's coffee with a teaspoon, just how he likes it.

 

"That's okay. You've probably got quite a bit to ponder," Denise agrees. "I'm so sorry to have bothered you on your day off with this information--"

 

"It's fine, Dee. This was pretty damned important," Bucky says. He breathes a big sigh. "You think we'll be okay?"

 

"I think we'll be fine," Denise assures kindly. "This is what we needed. I can't wait to see the good this money will be able to do."

 

Bucky gives a small, genuine smile. "Me neither," he says in a slightly awed voice. They say their goodbyes, and Bucky hangs up. He stares at the blank phone screen for a few moments before half-turning to throw it onto the sofa cushions.

 

He slumps against the kitchen counter and watches Steve, who has finished the entire breakfast while Bucky's been on the phone; eggs and toast and coffee, all laid out on the counter. He looks tentatively at Bucky, unsure and potentially gauging how he's processing all this new information.

 

Bucky doesn't say anything, save to walk over to Steve and wrap his arms around the blond's chest. Steve hugs him back immediately, and Bucky sags into the embrace, relief bleeding out in torrents. It's a wonderful moment, if only because Bucky's realising that while there's still a bit of hard work to go, essentially his life is once again more his own than it was ten minutes ago. He exhales gustily.

 

"Everything okay?" Steve murmurs.

 

"Yeah... yeah, it is. I'm just shocked, without putting too fine a point on it."

 

Bucky pulls back a little, hands gripping Steve's huge biceps. "You _really_ didn't have anything to do with it?" Bucky doesn't think he's been lied to, he'd just really like to hear the words come from Steve's mouth directly.

 

Steve shakes his head emphatically. "I _really_ didn't. In fact... I think Pepper kept me in the dark on purpose." He pushes some of Bucky's longer bangs away from his face with a careful hand. Bucky leans into the hand for a brief moment, before forcing himself to pull away. He gestures to their plates of breakfast untouched on the counter top.

 

"Let's eat before this gets cold," Bucky suggests, "and you can tell me why you think that."

 

They each slide onto the stools by the counter, and take up a fork. Bucky has a sip of coffee as Steve takes a huge bite out of his scrambled eggs on toast.

 

"I dropped in on Pepper while at the Tower yesterday, to ask her a question. It was about volunteering at your work," Steve says without preamble, after he's finished chewing his mouthful.

 

Bucky's eyebrows rise. "Why is that?"

 

"Well, I told you my reasons to volunteer, about me wanting it to be for Steve Rogers, _not_ Captain America," he begins seriously.

 

"Very compelling arguments they were, too," Bucky says kindly, touching the back of Steve's hand. The sombre expression lightens a little bit, and Bucky is glad for it.

 

"Pepper is a great sounding board, and very knowledgeable. I wanted to ask her advice on it, and wanted to know if it would cause any problems, or if I were breaking any rules that I didn't know about.

 

"She said no, especially if I were doing it as myself, and not in my official role, though she _did_ admit it would be great PR for the Avengers."

 

Bucky knows he can't keep the grimace off his face, because the last thing he wants to happen is for the circus to roll into town, with their reporters and their film crews to scrutinise his families for a sound bite on the six o'clock news on what they think about _Captain America_ coming to visit them.

 

"You don't have to worry; I told her straight out that I didn't want my job to affect the volunteer aspect, and that I didn't want any PR stuff going on. I also said you probably wouldn't appreciate it."

 

Bucky gives a little sigh of relief, before a question occurs. "You told her specifically you wanted to work at my outreach?"

 

"Admittedly, if it were going to cause you any undue hassle at all, it wouldn't have to be _yours_ , but I'd like for it to be," he says with gentle conviction, his jaw set in a way that probably should be all serious. Unfortunately Bucky gets a flash in his mind's eye of a tiny, ninety-pound Steve with the exact same set to his jaw, and can't help but think it's unfairly endearing.

 

"Does she know we're not just dating anymore?" Bucky presses.

 

The tips of Steve's ears go pink, and it's unconscionably attractive. "Yeah," he admits. "She asks about you sometimes. You made an impression on her."

 

"A good one, I hope," Bucky declares, wondering if she perhaps still thinks him taking Tony down a couple of pegs was a good thing.

 

"Definitely. Also, she thinks you have great eyes," Steve grins, before biting his lip. "Clearly, she's never seen your ass."

 

Bucky barks out a laugh. "And undoubtedly, she never will," he smiles back.

 

"Anyway," Steve continues, "I've no doubt she put two and two together, once she knew the name of where you worked, and where I wanted to volunteer, but she didn't say anything to me about it. Just sort of smiled, and asked if you were going to come to the Halloween party. Oh, and she also offered to help with a costume if needs be."

 

Because a Stark party would probably -- no, _definitely_ \-- necessitate the need for a better costume than the shitty Ninja Turtle one he plans to wear trick or treating. That's a Future Bucky concern, though. He needs to get back on task.

 

Bucky shakes his head a little. "Sounds like she knew already, but just didn't want to you to either a) spoil the surprise, b) put your foot in it, or c) have you give the game away early."

 

"All viable options," Steve nods, taking another bite of toast.

 

Bucky sips his coffee quietly for a few moments, setting out the timeline of events in his head. "So Dee really did get the grant based entirely on her proposal?"

 

"Looks like. When I spoke to her, she didn't know it was your workplace until I mentioned it. I think maybe... maybe _after_ Pepper realised, she didn't want you to think that she was awarding it because of you, or me."

 

"Dee _does_ write a kickass proposal," Bucky admits.

 

"If anyone could convince Pepper and a committee to hand over money, even based on only one meeting, I feel like it would be her," he says with utter confidence, a large smile on his face. He leans across to kiss Bucky on the cheek. "Congratulations to Denise, and you, and everyone at your work. This is such great news."

 

Bucky grins. "Damn right."

 

He takes a few more bites before a sudden pensive look crosses Steve's face. "Oh. So, uh... I heard you talk about hiring more staff now?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky says around a mouthful of scrambled egg, "that's going to be pretty great. You know, once we're past the shit interview process."

 

"Right... so..." Steve chews on his bottom lip. "I know you can probably afford a real artist for the course now, but... I'd love for you to still consider me as a volunteer position for it, if you wouldn't mind? You can save the money you'd spend hiring someone for something else, I was always going to do it for free, if you'd have me."

 

Bucky's heart hurts a little bit at Steve's tentative selling of his skills. "Are you fucking kidding me? Of _course_ you're still considered for it." He takes Steve's hand. "We still have to iron out those details about what to do and when, but when that happens, if you're agreeable, I pretty much think Denise is already on board."

 

Steve gives him a sweet, hopeful smile, and it's quite disgusting what it does to Bucky's insides. They turn to molten fucking lava.

 

"Okay, that's-- that's great," he gently enthuses, squeezing Bucky's hand, and Bucky squeezes back.

 

They eat a little more breakfast before Steve puts his chin in his hand. "So what's going to happen now? Will you still have to work as much?"

 

Bucky sits up in the stool a little straighter, an idea forming in his head.

 

"Would it be hard for you to get a few days off from Thursday?" Bucky asks abruptly, answering the question with one of his own.

 

Steve gives one shoulder a shrug. "I've finished all the briefings, and am just running a few training exercises early next week. Barring an emergency, it shouldn't be _too_ difficult. Why?"

 

Bucky cups his face in his hand and leans his elbow on the counter top, smirking. "...How about that weekend away?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * So... fun fact. I did actually set this fic in real time for 2016 when i was writing it, but as the chapters got longer and the spans of time I was covering got shorter, I'm no longer ahead of myself, and the story has actually caught up with me. So basically, this weekend just gone? That's actually the weekend away (in which they're about to take). 
> 
> * There will be one chapter covering stuff before I get to halloween. So basically, the halloween chapter will come out after halloween. I don't think any of the chapters for the holidays are going to match up because I have some big plans for character development and they won't be so easy to churn out super-quickly. I'll make up the time somewhere! Somehow! 
> 
> * I figure as long as I keep writing you guys probably don't care if it doesn't sync up exactly, though. amirite? 
> 
> * I had this discussion with someone in the comments of the previous chapter about why Steve didn't just randomly donate money to the outreach, or get Tony on board to do so, and there's a couple of reasons why. 
> 
> 1\. Steve is hands-on. He admires the hell out of the good work that Bucky does, and loves how involved Bucky is in the process of helping. He wants to reap the emotional/karmic rewards of helping, not just donate. (Tony is the kind of dude to help by throwing money at something. Steve is the kind of dude to help by jumping in and getting his hands dirty)
> 
> 2\. It never even occurred to him to call Tony and ask about money, because as friendly as he is with Tony, he's inextricably linked to the Captain America and Avengers part of his life. Bucky is someone who belongs to Steve Rogers' life, and Steve is trying very hard to forge connections and have an enriching existence outside of his role as Cap. So thinking about how Steve is going to help... Tony didn't even factor in. 
> 
> * Steve suspects this, but I'm here to confirm it from Bucky's perspective; he wouldn'tve been happy at all if Steve had either a) donated money himself or b) orchestrated the grant. It might look like Steve's being helpful, but to Bucky it's not. Not only is it interfering in his work, but potentially setting them up with some ethical dramas down the track. Bucky is proud of his reputation as a professional, and proud of the reputation his workplace has. He's also proud of the excellent reputation that Steve carries. If it came out that Steve in any way influenced the decision on where the money went, some news station *coughFOXcough* might try and cause drama, saying Bucky's outreach only won the grant or got the money because of Steve. Or someone might try and sue the Howard and Maria Stark Foundation, or their outreach, because they missed out. Basically, someone might try and be a dick, and he's determined that everything will remain above-board. He wants both his and Steve's reputations to remain intact. 
> 
> When eventually Bucky is known to be the boyfriend, I'm sure someone will do some digging and raise a question about it, but both the foundation, Steve, and Bucky/Bucky's outreach will have complete transparency and evidence backing up that the proposal was submitted, went through all the stages, and was chosen on its own merits, and for no other reason. 
> 
> * Steve and Bucky can find it within themselves to have serious discussions about their relationship, but it seemingly still always de-evolves into sass. Oh, boys. 
> 
> The arc of the next few months is planned quite thoroughly, and while everything has been going smooth so far, nothing's entirely perfect. There's going to be a few trying times ahead, but I hope you continue to read and enjoy as their relationship continues to evolve. 
> 
> If you were inclined to leave me a comment and let me know what you think, dude, that'd be awesome. Thank you stucky fandom, you continue to be the coolest and most fun I've been involved in in a LONG time. <3
> 
> (on the subject of comments, i'm still backtracking and replying. so if you commented and haven't gotten an acknowledgment/reply, i'm not being rude asshole, I promise! I'm getting to it! :D )


	13. Dating (week 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Weekend Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys, welcome back to this story. Thank you for your continued support and comments. Man, they're just amazing. 
> 
> Before I go too far, this chapter deals with issues related to PTSD. If you think that's something that might affect you, I have a more detailed note about what happens in the end notes. if you want to check it out, so you're not caught offguard, go for it and then decide if you want to keep reading. Otherwise, sit back, relax, and let it happen :3
> 
> This was an interesting one, so I hope you enjoy it. Sarah, as always, was an unbelievable beta, and made this so much better than its first draft. If you think you're getting punched in the face, it's because of her.

 

Bucky sighs contentedly and flips a page in his paperback, though his attention on the book has been waning for the past few minutes. Steve lies next to him propped up on one elbow, on a similar towel, doodling in his sketchbook.

 

Well, _he_ calls it 'doodling'. Bucky prefers to call it 'being ridiculously talented'.

 

"You're staring again," Steve comments lightly, though he hasn't looked up, and Bucky's wearing sunglasses. Bucky pushes them up off his nose, squinting at the brightness.

 

"How could you tell?" he asks curiously.

 

"I'm extremely observant," Steve replies with as much gravity as he can muster, and Bucky throws his balled-up sandwich wrapper at him.

 

"You're also a massive target," Bucky remarks rudely.

 

Steve stops drawing and looks up. "Are you... are you calling me _fat?_ " he asks with horror, but not even _Steve_ can keep a straight face at that anymore, and they both start laughing.

 

"You're such a ham. How did you even have an acting career?" Bucky chortles.

 

"It wasn't _much_ of one, in case you couldn't tell," Steve grins.

 

Bucky smiles and drops his paperback to the side, completely abandoning any pretence of reading to watch Steve's pencil on the paper.

 

They've now spent just over twenty-four hours in North Carolina, and Bucky doesn't think he's ever felt so relaxed.

 

As it turns out, it wasn't hard for Steve to get some time off. He thinks maybe Pepper had some kind of hand in making it happen, because he knows at least that Pepper was the one to suggest North Carolina. She even went so far as to provide Steve with a few options as to where to stay, naming one in particular she had visited multiple times.

 

Because in some places she and Stark had been away together, the staff of wherever they stayed reported it to the media in the hopes of making a quick buck, Pepper now had made legal confidentiality agreements with certain trustworthy establishments around the country. Stark Industries kicks in a generous bonus if there were no leaks to their whereabouts during the stay. She'd told Steve that they both could be shielded by that agreement if they so chose.

 

With that, Steve agreed to Pepper's suggestion, and for expediency, even capitulating to her loaning them her private SI jet. Driving would take half a day, and a commercial airline would be more trouble than it was worth.

 

Bucky knew Steve didn't necessarily like leaning on Pepper for things such as this, but for a last-minute trip, he was willing to take whatever help he could get -- that wasn't Tony's.

 

Steve had been worried that Bucky would think the private jet and nondisclosure agreements were too much, but Bucky was surprisingly okay with it. He assured Steve that it was good to spoil yourself every once in a while, insisting that Steve had to start living like he'd actually _left_ the Great Depression that he loved to fondly bring up all the time.

 

Flying on a private jet turned out to be pretty cool.

 

Bucky was happy enough to let Steve choose their accommodation, only getting cranky when Steve wouldn't let him split the cost.

 

"I'm staying there, too, I should pay as well," Bucky argued.

 

"It was my idea, when it's your idea, _you_ can pay," Steve insisted. "Also, I'd like to think of it as me treating you for doing so well at work. If you still want to contribute, you can buy us food," Steve tacked on the end when Bucky was set to protest again.

 

The proviso was enough to stop Bucky arguing, especially knowing how much Steve could eat, it would actually end up being mostly fair.

 

With the jet dropping them off at a private airstrip, a town car was waiting to take them to their accommodation: the Harborlight Guest House.

 

The place, while not looking like much from the outside, turned out to be _brilliant_. Steve and Bucky had a two-room suite with waterfront views on three sides, a deck, and a hot tub in the living room -- a fucking _hot tub_. The suite looked like it rivalled Steve's apartment in sheer square footage, and it was definitely decorated a little nicer. Pale green walls with a mix of wooden and wicker furniture, comfortable chairs and a huge king bed. There was even a little patio facing the water.

 

"Damn," Bucky had breathed, suitably impressed upon walking in. "Pepper clearly knows her shit." He dropped his bag by one of the overstuffed chairs and went to one of the windows. It showed a pristine scene of the water, something that Bucky didn't get much opportunity to see.

 

Steve appeared behind him, turning his body around and slowly backing him into the master bedroom. "Was there ever any doubt?" he murmured next to Bucky's ear. Bucky couldn't help the grin or the pleased little shiver that went down his spine.

 

Just before the backs of Bucky's knees hit the bed, he used his size to swing Steve around and reverse their positions, before pushing him onto the mattress first.

 

Bucky'd never been to North Carolina before, but his first memories of it were undoubtedly burnt into his brain as extremely pleasant for years to come.

 

Their first day was lazy and nice. After some quality time in their suite, Steve went down to reception and organised the pick-up of their rental car. After exploring the amenities of their accommodation, their car was dropped off as a courtesy, and Steve took Bucky on a drive.

 

It was nice to have the convenience of a car without having to be the one to drive. Steve took them to the nearby national park where there were restaurants and shops and conveniences. They picked a little hole in the wall diner to have lunch at, before stopping to buy a shit-ton of snack foods to take back to their room. They made it back to see the sun set over the water from their little patio, and get room service for dinner.

 

All in all, a pretty good first day.

 

And their second day was shaping up to be even better, if Bucky had any say in it. After a lazy morning, they got changed into comfortable clothes, filled a backpack full of snacks, two towels, a novel and a sketchpad, and went on a walk.

 

The temperature was somewhere between warm and cool; warmer than New York, enough to wear shorts and t shirts during the day, but cool enough to require a light jacket or a supersoldier-shaped personal furnace at night.

 

Lucky Bucky brought both those things.

 

He sighs as he watches Steve shade with the pencil on his page, before his eyes get drawn out to the ocean. They'd found a sandy bank by the water, and then a couple of trees that afforded to give them a little shade out of the direct heat. They'd eaten some lunch and drawn and read respectively, now Bucky's getting itchy feet.

 

The water looks beautiful in the sunlight, flecks of sunshine rippling over the gentle water. There's next to no movement in the waves, just the gentlest of breaks onto the shore.

 

Bucky can't remember the last time he went swimming, but the urge suddenly hits him now.

 

He sits up and takes his sunglasses off, before grabbing his t shirt between his shoulderblades, pulling it up and off. The movement distracts Steve from his drawing and he arches an eyebrow.

 

Bucky undoes his belt and unzips his fly, and this time both of Steve's eyebrows decide to meet his hairline.

 

"Didn't think this was a nudist beach," he says mildly, watching Bucky kick off his shorts, until all that's left are his boxer briefs.

 

Steve gives a cautious look around, but there's barely anybody to see Bucky in all his glory. "Don't mistake this for a complaint, but is there any particular reason you're stripping?" Steve asks with amusement. He _does_ allow himself a good long glance up and down Bucky's body.

 

Bucky gives a one-shouldered shrug and chucks his thumb towards the water. "Thought I'd take a dip," he gives Steve a grin and starts to back up towards the water.

 

Steve looks at him with surprise. Bucky laughs at his boyfriend's stunned mullet expression, crooking a finger in a beckoning motion as he gets closer. He hurries until the sand gets softer and cooler as gets closer to the water's edge, until suddenly it laps at his heels.

 

Bucky turns towards the water, breathing in the salt air. It's beautiful, and the gentle noises of the ocean are soothing. He steps in carefully, but the chill of the water doesn't properly hit him until it comes to mid-thigh. "Shit," he mutters, his breath quickening.

 

He shifts from foot to foot to foot to stay warm. When Bucky's become a little accustomed to the invigorating temperature, he looks back to Steve. Steve has stood by his towel, sketchbook dangling from one hand.

 

Bucky cups his hands in front of his face. "Come on in! It's beautiful!"

 

He's moved to where the water level reaches mid-chest. It's still fairly cool, but kicking his feet under the water helps keep him warm. Bucky draws his fingers over the edge of the water, watching the tips of his digits ripple the surface.

 

Without warning, he gives a little jump up, inhaling deeply and squeezing his eyes shut, before sinking below the surface.

 

Cool completely envelops him as he moves his arms through the water, fingers outspread. He can feel his hair float about his face like seaweed. After a moment, the soles of his feet find the sandbank again, and he pushes himself up.

 

Rubbing the salt water from his closed eyes with the heels of his hands, Bucky pushes his hair away from his face and blinks the droplets of water away. It takes a few moments to get his vision back, but when he does, Steve is still on the bank. It seems as though he's taken a few steps closer to the water, and he no longer holds the sketch pad, but it doesn't look like Bucky's getting a wading buddy.

 

Bucky peers closer. The line of Steve's body is stiff, shoulders rigid. He's far away, but something is off. His body language is screaming tension.

 

Bucky suddenly gets nervous he's about to see a dorsal fin pop up next to him or something, and gives a quick look around.

 

Shark fears allayed, Bucky turns to look back to the shore. "Steve?" He calls out in question.

 

Steve gives a short, sharp shake of his head before turning away. He bends down and starts picking things up like he's packing up.

 

A warning klaxon goes off in Bucky's head. He's not sure what happened in the last five minutes, but something is now wrong. It's subtle, but Bucky's spent nearly three months learning Steve's visual cues, and everything's off by degrees now.

 

Bucky starts to move back to the shore, cursing that the water slows him down so much. He struggles towards shore before jogging through the knee high water with some level of difficulty.

 

"How did Hasslehoff make it look easy?" he mutters, getting back to the sand. His boxer briefs now stick uncomfortably to his skin, but that's the least of his concerns right now.

 

Bucky jogs over the beach back to Steve, who has successfully thrown out their trash and packed all their belongings, save for Bucky's towel and clothes, into the backpack.

 

Running a hand through his wet hair, Bucky waits for Steve to offer an explanation. Steve, who seems to be studiously avoiding his gaze, watches the road.

 

"You didn't have to stop swimming," he says, unusually subdued.

 

Bucky responds with enforced cheer, picking up his towel. "'Course I did. You looked like you were packing up. Going somewhere?"

 

Steve keeps his eyes on the path. "I wasn't feeling-- I wanted to--" he lets out a sharp exhale. "I want to head back," he says resolutely, "getting a little hot."

 

Bucky dries his hair, the towel covering his face for a few moments. Steve doesn't really lie, per se, but he has been a fan in the past of deliberately omitting important details.

There's obviously bigger factors at play right now, so Bucky chooses to file that away to be addressed later.

 

Instead of dwelling, he hangs the towel around his shoulders and pulls his shorts back on, slipping into his flip flops. "Fair enough," Bucky says amiably, pulling his shirt back on as well.

 

Steve finally makes eye contact, looking surprised. "You don't have to come back... you can keep swimming if you want."

 

Bucky shrugs nonchalantly, hooking his sunglasses on the yoke of his t shirt. "Na, I'm okay. The point of the weekend was for us to spend time together, right? How can we do that if I'm here and you're back at the room?"

 

Steve doesn't answer, save to pick up the back pack and sling it over his tense shoulders. Bucky rubs the towel absently through his still-damp hair as they begin the five minute walk back to their accommodation.

 

They don't talk much on the way, and Bucky's not even sure Steve wants to be touched. They'd walked down to the beach holding hands, now Steve's hands are gripped in the straps of the backpack. Bucky stays close, brushing against him from time to time, but side glances show that Steve's not really paying attention.

 

For a guy that is perennially aware of his surroundings, it's unusual and it worries Bucky.

 

He doesn't ask anything, not until they get back to the room where there's a semblance of privacy.

 

Steve takes the backpack into their bedroom and starts unpacking it automatically. It stretches the silence out between them, but the actions seem reflexive, and important to Steve. Bucky watches from the doorway, running his hands through his hair. The line of Steve's body is still taut with tension.

 

Bucky leans against the doorframe and watches him for a few moments. Steve gives him side-eye as he busies himself.

 

"Sorry about that," Steve offers, voice seemingly light. "Think I was getting a little sunstroke." He tries for a smile, but it wavers a little. "Irish complexion and all."

 

"It was warm lying out in the sun," Bucky agrees. "The water cooled me right down, though."

 

At the statement, Steve pauses for a moment, and Bucky confirms to himself that this was the tipping point. He walks in and sits himself down on the bed, wriggling a little as his still-wet briefs soak through the seat of his pants. That's a Future Bucky problem, though.

 

Bucky takes a deep breath and looks up to Steve. "Are you okay, Steve? I feel like there might be something bothering you."

 

"Everything's good," Steve answers too quickly. He flicks a glance to Bucky and looks away quickly.

 

"And exactly _how_ many people who give a shit about you does that sort of response usually work on?" Bucky queries.

 

Steve looks at him again, holding the eye contact for longer now. He pauses deliberately before answering. "You'd be surprised," Steve admits ruefully.

 

Bucky still stays silent. He has patience that a saint would envy, and half the time at work, all he needs to do is to wait the other person out. Bucky exhales softly and watches Steve finish unpacking their belongings.

 

With a deep sigh, Steve eventually sits next to Bucky, staring at the clasped hands in his lap. They're silent for a few moments more before Bucky decides to do something about it.

 

"Normally I'd let you start talking first, but I want to say something quickly, if that's okay?" Bucky prompts.

 

"Go ahead," Steve murmurs.

 

Bucky takes a deep breath and holds his hand out to Steve. After a moment's pause, Steve takes it. That, at least, is a good sign.

 

"It feels like something's happened that's upset you somehow. I don't pretend to have the details figured out, but I care about you. And I want to help if I can."

 

Bucky runs his thumb over the back of Steve's hand. "If you feel comfortable telling me what's upset you, I am ready to listen. But it's important for you to know that my help doesn't hinge on you telling me that information; if you don't feel like you can, I still want to make you feel comfortable and safe again."

 

"I _am_ safe," Steve argues gently. "I know that."

 

"Logically you know that, I'm sure," Bucky responds, "but humans don't always act logically." He waits for Steve to respond, but Steve says nothing, so Bucky continues. "If there's anything I can do to help, I'd really like for you to tell me."

 

Steve looks at Bucky then, and his eyes are strained, fingers twitching in Bucky's hand. "I. I want to tell you," he bites out.

 

Bucky arches a brow. "Really? Because it doesn't sound like you do."

 

Steve squeezes his hand and shakes his head. "No, I _do_. I _should_. But--" he looks around with his brow furrowed. It seems like the words are getting stuck.

 

Bucky runs a thumb over the back of Steve's hand. "Do you need a little bit of time to yourself?" he offers.

 

"Yes," Steve responds, almost desperately. "If I can just get my thoughts together..."

 

Bucky nods and gets up. "Okay. I'm going to take a shower, wash the salt out of my hair. Take as much time as you need. If I come out and you're still not ready, that's okay, too." He leans down to kiss Steve on the forehead and slowly disengages their hands.

 

With a little, encouraging smile, Bucky backs into the bathroom and closes the door. When it's shut, he kicks off his flip flops and leans on the sink. His skin feels too tight and his chest aches. Steve's obviously distressed, but doesn't know how to articulate his problems. He says he wants to speak, but Bucky's not sure that Steve can.

 

Bucky desperately wishes he'd taken his cell into the bathroom with him, he's tempted to fire off a call to Denise. There's a reason she handles their PTSD-related cases.

 

Bucky strips off and gets in the shower. As great as that idea is, it's really not feasible, anyway. If Steve overheard him talking, that'd be horrifically awkward, and no doubt a breach of trust. That and it's not exactly keeping his work and personal life separate, like he strives to do on a daily basis.

 

The water is pleasant and Bucky takes his time washing his hair. He's not sure if he should hurry the shower to return to Steve, or take longer to give him more time.

 

Bucky rubs his eyes under the water, and tries to think about what _he'd_ want in a similar situation. He'd want company, but space. To not feel crowded in, but know that he's not alone, and the ability to reach out when he felt he was ready for some sort of physical solace.

 

But that's him. Steve could be entirely different.

 

Bucky runs through scenarios in his head as he showers, trying to figure a plan on how to assist, but it's remarkably difficult when he knows next to nothing about what has triggered anxiety in Steve. Instead, Bucky exhales smoothly, and thinks of a few different options he can offer as physical comforts. He rinses the conditioner out of his hair and exits the shower.

 

Running a comb through his hair, Bucky wraps a large, fluffy towel around his waist and shuffles back into the bedroom, deciding to play it by ear.

 

Steve's still sitting on the bed, head in his hands, and the sight makes Bucky wince. He _knows_ what it's like to feel like that. Gaze snapping up when he hears Bucky, Steve looks simultaneously happy and terrified to see him.

 

Bucky resumes his place next to him, not touching, but close enough to reach if Steve wishes. He can only go by his own responses when triggered, and sometimes touch is a -- forgive the pun -- _touchy_ subject for him.

 

Those concerns are allayed when Steve pulls him close almost instantly. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's torso, and holds him tight. He can feel Steve's face resting in the crook of his shoulder, can hear the uneven breathing and the occasional hitch, the faster heartbeat.

 

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to talk now," Bucky soothes. "What do you need to feel a little better?"

 

Steve's words are a little muffled, but Bucky can make them out clearly enough. "I _need_ to tell you," he insists, before pushing up from Bucky. Bucky can see his eyes are just a touch moist, and his heart drops a little in his chest. "It's so stupid, though. What sets me off," Steve says as he wipes at the skin just below his right eye.

 

Bucky thinks he knows why Steve is having so much trouble speaking, because he knows exactly what it's like to have a conversation like this with Denise, except he was on Steve's side.

 

It's about not wanting to be vulnerable in front of someone you respect. You don't want them to think less of you. It's so clear, in the way that Steve is sitting there, licking dry lips and trying to choose his words. Trying to think of the most acceptable way to present his deeply individual trauma to Bucky.

 

And Bucky knows what he can do to perhaps help make it a bit easier on Steve.

 

"Birthday candles," he offers quietly, putting his hands in Steve's. Steve looks at him in confusion, so he elaborates. "Birthday candles, when they're blown out have a very specific smell. Apparently, it reminds me of the smell of the smoke grenades I used in Afghanistan to clear out a building full of insurgents."

 

He laughs without much humour. "Found out quite by accident in my first six months of working at the outreach, when it was Wendy's birthday. She blew out her candles, and the next thing I remember is Dee crouching next to me." He shrugs stiffly." I'd apparently hit the deck and crawled into the corner of the room, yelling out some stuff."

 

"I'm sorry, Buck," Steve says sincerely.

 

"I'm the reason we can't have candles on cakes at work anymore," Bucky says self-deprecatingly.

 

"Candles are overrated," Steve says with a wavering smile.

 

Bucky lets out a soft laugh and kisses Steve on the cheek. "Thanks." He sighs. "The reason I'm telling you this is that it's okay to share with the people you trust, they're not going to think less of you. If they care for you don't want to see you hurting.

 

"If they care for you, they can help."

 

Steve leans forward and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. "Thank you," he says quietly. "That probably wasn't easy to say."

 

"It wasn't so bad," Bucky murmurs back, "I trust you."

 

Bucky can feel Steve exhale a large breath, the air tickling his skin. With some effort, Steve leans back and opens his eyes. They're still holding hands, and Bucky can feel his fingers twitch, the large palms slightly slick with sweat.

 

"I--" Steve stops, licking dry lips. His eyes scan back and forth, as though he's sorting through which words to speak. Bucky rubs his thumbs in small circles over the back of Steve's hands, trying to show him support. Eventually, Steve begins to talk in slow, measured words. "I don't like going into large bodies of water. It's not just the ocean, but the ocean is the worst."

 

Bucky nods thoughtfully. The ocean is an interesting one. He knows -- and has had personal experience with -- people who've not been able to go to the beach, but that's usually been due to the sand. In fact, Bucky grits his teeth on dry sand: once he's close to the water and it's wet, it bears little to no resemblance to the desert he had to put up with for years, and it gets much better.

 

Steve's voice pulls him out of his musings. His words are stilted, each one sounds like an effort to be forced out of his body. "Everyone thinks that the ice is a big deal to me, and tiptoe around it. Unless you're Tony, and making constant jokes about it."

 

"Tony's an asshole," Bucky cuts in bluntly, and it makes Steve smile a little, squeezing his hands.

 

"Sometimes," he agrees. Steve inhales deeply, the exhale rattling through his chest. "The ice was-- _is_ bad, I agree. But-- but I don't really remember it very well, th-the freezing or the defrosting process."

 

Steve lifts his eyes to Bucky's, and they are scraped clean of the mirth and vitality that they usually contain. "I remember the water."

 

Bucky's forehead creases in a frown. Steve's talking about the _Valkyrie_ , and Bucky goes over every scrap of information he knows about it. Given that he's made a point not to research Captain America anymore than he already knew, his has to think back to his high school history classes, as well as anything Gracie has talked about over the course of her Masters degree.

 

Steve was stuck on the HYDRA plane, bombs on board and heading for the States. Unable to land, he nosedived...

 

...into the ocean.

 

Bucky's mouth drops open in horror, and Steve's jaw clenches tight. "I don't remember freezing," he says quietly, looking down at their joined hands, "But I remember water seeping into the cockpit, so very cold." Steve's adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

 

"I remember drowning."

 

His voice fades on the last syllable, but to Bucky, he may as well have shouted it. It's like a slap in the face, and Bucky watches in dismay as Steve's broad shoulders slump and curve forward.

 

Bucky can't help his reaction. He pulls Steve forward, back into the crook of his neck, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist. Steve is pliant and goes there willingly, digging his nose into Bucky's damp collarbone. Words are halted as Bucky runs through the chain of events in the afternoon, like flipping through slides.

 

"I didn't realise," Bucky says hoarsely, in reflection. "And I-- I called you out into the water."

 

"I've been in water before, sometimes I've had no choice," Steve admits. "If I need to save someone, or I've been thrown into it, I could manage." He gives a little shudder. "I just didn't do well afterwards."

 

Bucky wets his lips. "Have you ever told anyone else this? Your teammates? A counsellor?"

 

Steve moves, and it's a shake of his head. "Telling someone means I'm thinking about it, and I don't like to do that." His fingers twitch on Bucky's skin, pulling him tighter. Bucky doesn't shirk away, squeezing Steve as tight as he possibly can in return; he knows it's not going to hurt the blond.

 

Bucky thinks on Steve's reply, thinks on how close he's been keeping this information. "Would you have told me if we weren't staying here together? Or if I hadn't asked?"

 

Steve breathes out a sigh, his breath tickling at Bucky's wet skin. "Probably not," he admits in a small voice.

 

Bucky's not upset by the admission. Steve has proven time and again to be protective of his privacy, and as he well knows, PTSD is not an easy subject to discuss with _anyone_.

 

One of his hands goes into Steve's hair and massages the knotted muscles at the base of the blond's skull, and Steve moves towards the touch.

 

"Thank you for telling me," he says sincerely, "it was really brave. I'm glad that you felt like you could, and I appreciate how much it took to not deflect or lie about it."

 

Steve gives a scandalised snort and looks up. His eyes are red-rimmed, but there's a little bit of fire back in them. Not as much as normal, but it's an improvement. "I couldn't _lie_ ," he says, sounding shocked. "It might be hard, but... I couldn't do that."

 

Bucky cups Steve's face in his hands and gives him a smile. "Maybe the 'A' doesn't stand for 'Asshole' after all. 'Captain Altruism' has a ring of truth to it."

                                 

"Shut up," Steve blurts out an ugly laugh, and Bucky chuckles gently.

 

He exhales a deep breath. With the story out, Bucky can focus on the next step. He runs the backs of his knuckles gently over Steve's cheekbones. "So now that I know what the cause is... what can I do to help?" When Steve looks at him somewhat blankly, Bucky rephrases. "What can we both do to make you to feel more settled and comfortable for the rest of our time here?"

 

Steve chews on his bottom lip, casting a quick glance behind him to the rest of their suite. "We have three windows that face the water..." he begins slowly.

 

"Want to see if we can switch suites?"

 

"I really love this room, though," Steve insists, "and you do, too. I just--" he exhales sharply. "I don't want to see it right now."

 

Bucky thinks carefully. "Would shutting the curtains help?"

 

Steve perks up as though he'd not thought of that as an option. "You wouldn't mind?"

 

"Shit, Steve, they're just curtains. If I want to appreciate the view, I can always go sit out on the patio. If so many views of the water make you uncomfortable, it's an easy fix."

 

"Just two," Steve says quickly. "I mean. One is okay, three is a little much."

 

Bucky suspects that Steve's saying it just to please him, but he doesn't need to get into arguing little details like that now.

 

"That's eminently doable," Bucky agrees, "What else?"

 

Steve looks thoughtful. "Noise is good? Not a lot... just, music. Or even the TV on or something?"

 

Bucky nods and stands. He takes Steve's hands and gives a little tug, pulling Steve to his feet. Gently leading Steve into the living room of their suite, Bucky drops one hand to pick up the remote control to the TV and flick it on. He flips around, looking for something to play. Bucky stops on the sports channel as ESPN is replaying the baseball game from a few days ago. The gentle roar of the crowd combined with the laconic narration by the commentators has Steve visibly relaxing.

 

"That's good," Steve murmurs, eyes drawn to the screen.

 

"Anything else?" Bucky prompts.

 

Steve thinks, a deep frown creasing his brow. "I like to have hot showers," he admits after a few moments. "The temperature helps me remember I'm... not there."

 

Bucky observes Steve carefully, and thinks back to after Geneva. Steve didn't have a problem with a bath when he had a busted foot, but he _also_ wasn't coming off a PTSD-related episode at the time.

 

"Are baths okay under the circumstances, too?" Bucky queries.

 

"Yes," Steve confirms. "They're different."

 

"Good." Bucky presses a quick kiss to Steve's hand and drops it. He walks past the overstuffed armchairs to the dais where the hot tub is. Steaming water streams through the faucet as he turns the taps on. There's a lot of pressure, and Bucky is suitably impressed at the speed in which the tub is filling.

 

While that happens, Bucky moves to each one of the large picture windows in the room and closes the curtains. He turns after closing the third one to see Steve's jaw jut out stubbornly.

 

"I said you didn't have to do that to all three," he says obstinately.

 

"I know," Bucky replies, moving to turn on one of the pedestal lamps in the room, "but for privacy, it's probably a good idea."

 

Before Steve can respond, Bucky crosses the room, heading towards the tub. As he moves, he unwraps the towel from his waist, so by the time Bucky gets there and drops the towel, he's naked. The water level's close to where it needs to be now, so Bucky slides in and turns to face Steve.

 

He is frozen in place, not unlike he was at the beach, save for the fact his face and body betray more surprise than anxiety. Bucky gives Steve an encouraging smile, and to his pleasure, a small one is returned. Reaching out to flick on the lamp conveniently close to the tub, the bulb bathes Bucky's skin in warm, yellow light. He turns the taps off and sits up so that the water comes to his hips, only just covering his crotch.

 

Bucky arches one brow and cocks his head to the side, avoiding verbally asking Steve to join him, so to cause no associations with asking the blond to join him in the ocean earlier.

 

Steve seems to pick up on the question without problem. He walks slowly to the tub, taking his t shirt off as he goes. Sitting down on the top stair but facing away from the tub, Steve takes his time removing his shoes, and then shorts. He flips around then, his boxer briefs the only stitch of clothing left.

 

Bucky moves to Steve, who dangles his legs in the tub. He scoops the water up with his hands, getting Steve's bony knees wet. Placing both hands on them, he pushes Steve's knees apart and moves between them. He stretches up, stopping a few inches out from Steve's mouth, but Steve drops down so their lips touch.

 

The kiss is sweet and remarkably chaste. Bucky looks at Steve's shoulders, curving down in a slump, his eyes watching Bucky with adoration and wariness. "If you're in the mood," Bucky starts, running wet hands down Steve's chest and stomach until he gets to the waistband of his briefs, "you should join me."

 

Bucky's fingers tug gently at the elastic, and ultimately, Steve pushes himself up on his hands so Bucky can pull the briefs down past his ass. He then lifts his feet out of the water so Bucky can completely remove them.

 

He reaches blindly for Bucky's hands. Then, and only then, does Steve lift himself up off the rim of the tub and sink slowly into the water. Sitting on the ledge on the inside, the water comes up to just below his pectorals.

 

Bucky flicks a switch and turns the jets on. Steve startles for a moment, but the soft burbling of the water, combined with how it feels from all the sides, seems to distract him a little.

 

Bucky smiles indulgently. "Thank you," he whispers. He slides up and into Steve's lap, his knees bracketing Steve's thighs. Their parts are pressed together, but Bucky ignores that for the time being.

 

He drapes his arms gently around Steve's neck and they spend a few more important moments kissing. Steve's movements are skittish, not as confident as they normally are, so Bucky takes his time, not only with his lips, but with his hands. They are not idle, roaming the blond's shoulders and arms, trying to work out the tense, bunched muscles.

 

As Steve loosens up, Bucky slides out of his lap and manoeuvres himself behind Steve, doing his best to bracket Steve's body with his own.

 

In this position, Steve sags against him once he feels Bucky surround him. Bucky reaches his arms around Steve's chest and holds him close, dipping to kiss Steve on the shoulder before resting his chin there.

 

They sit like that for a while, listening to the bubbling of the spa, and the dull murmur of the baseball crowd from the TV. Steve's breathing seems to have evened out. If Bucky's thinking about it, he's tried to create an environment opposite to what he thinks Steve's experiences would've been like: instead of silent, cold and alone, it's noise, warmth and companionship. Bucky hopes it's enough to make something resembling a safe space for him.

 

"This is nice," Steve says presently, leaning back a little so their cheeks rub together, because Steve has a _thing_ for Bucky with a couple of day's growth on his face.

 

Bucky exhales a short breath in relief. "So the situation's okay?" Bucky confirms, and Steve nods in reply. "Good," he says, adding in a squeeze for good measure.

 

Steve's silent for a little longer, before letting out a sigh, his large hands coming to rest over Bucky's on his chest.

 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, facing out.

 

"What for?" Bucky asks, and Steve gives him a weird look from the side. Bucky remains resolute. "Seriously, what for?"

 

"This was meant to be our first weekend away," Steve begins.

 

"It's _still_ our first weekend away," Bucky reminds him, gently bumping his head into Steve's.

 

"It's just--" Steve pauses and sighs. "It's our first weekend away, and I've gone and ruined it."

 

Bucky pulls away, looking mildly horrified. "How on earth do you think you've ruined this?" He gestures to them both, and the entire beautiful room.

 

Steve looks at the jet directly opposite him, spewing out warm water. "I freaked out a little and got depressing, and you're having to cheer me up and be like a counsellor," he sulks. "It's meant to be your time off work."

 

Bucky laughs huskily, and shifts behind him, lips brushing Steve's cheek. "Trust me when I say I am _not_ confusing you with a twelve-year old who's having problems at school."

 

"I should hope not," Steve says mildly, pushing back into Bucky's pelvis, so his half-hard dick presses into his ass.

 

"Hey," Bucky says with fake offense, "don't blame my dick for not listening to our emotional conversation, it was solely focused on the touching and the spooning you. Can you blame it? S'got a mind of its own."

 

Steve sighs. "If I did, I'd have to blame mine, too," he says ruefully, and Bucky gets a little jolt of desire spike through him. His hands move down a little over the slick plane of Steve's chest, squeezing his pectorals to the tune of a muffled hiss.

 

Steve feels incredible under his hands, smooth and pliant and warm. Bucky licks a few beads of water away from the crook of Steve's neck, and hears a cut-off whimper of pleasure, and Steve leans back, pressing into Bucky. Maybe there's something else he can do to help Steve feel good and safe again.

 

"In response to me acting like your counsellor," Bucky begins, bringing the conversation back to Steve's concerns, "I'd like to remind you of my strict code of conduct in relation to my charges, and my job."

 

"I remember your feelings on the subject," Steve murmurs.

 

Bucky shifts, one hand drifting absently over Steve's abdominals, then the hard plane of his lower stomach. "If I were _actually_ your counsellor, it'd be _completely_ unethical to give you a handjob," he says nonchalantly, taking Steve's hardening dick in his hand. "Make no mistake, if you're up for it--" Bucky pauses to laugh softly at his own joke, pressing his nose into Steve's cheek, "--that's what I plan to do."

 

Any lingering worry that he might not be going in the right direction with Steve is dismissed when Steve bites off a groan and thrusts his hips into Bucky's hand.

 

Bucky's teeth scrape the back of Steve's shoulder as he pumps Steve's shaft. A larger hand joins Bucky's and with a twisting motion, it doesn't take long before Steve's hips stutter to a halt, body going momentarily rigid in front of him.

 

Bucky murmurs his approval as Steve gulps in air to come down from his orgasm. His own erection is pressed between them and momentarily forgotten when Steve turns in his embrace and presses him up against the wall of the tub to kiss him deeply. He should feel boxed in by Steve's imposing presence, but he doesn't. Steve keeps nudging at Bucky while they kiss, like he wants something specific. Bucky's arms wrap around his neck, and his legs go instinctively around Steve's waist when he stands up in the tub, lifting Bucky out.

 

Water sluices off their bodies, to be soaked up by the towels strewn haphazardly at the little stairs, as Steve puts Bucky down carefully, making eye contact with Bucky that is heavy with the many things he hasn't been able to say.

 

"I'd like to take you to bed," Steve announces with a moderate amount of confidence, and Bucky's gratified that a little of the old Steve is returning. The way in which he says it reminds Bucky of him signing off his more confident missives with 'I'll write you tomorrow'. Still, Steve being Steve, it's an offer that allows for a negative response, just in case.

 

Bucky gives him a gentle smile and holds one hand out. Steve takes it immediately, interlacing their fingers. "I'd like that, too," Bucky responds.

 

He leads Steve across the carpet and to the bedroom, leaving droplets and wet footprints in their wake.

 

Once there, Bucky sets about making Steve feel safe and cared for. Steve is forever clutching at him, pulling him close, so Bucky makes sure there's always three or four points of contact between their bodies.

 

There is an edge of desperation to what they do, but Bucky keeps slowing Steve down. He calms Steve's manic energy with gentle touches, feather-light kisses and soft words of encouragement.

 

And Steve responds in the way that Bucky's realising is indicative of his boyfriend; jumping into their intimacy with both feet first, eyes wide open, and trusting. With Steve opening up to him in such a personal way, Bucky thinks a barrier or two he hadn’t quite realised were up, have come down.

 

It is a very privileged position that Bucky finds himself in, to be the source of comfort and grounding of not Captain America, but _Steve._

 

Because Steve is a deep and complex and wonderful human all on his own, without ever putting that brightly-coloured uniform on.

 

Steve comes down from his climax, sweaty and shaking and still clutching at Bucky's shoulders. Their foreheads are pressed together, breath intermingling. Steve's eyes are so blue and so close... Bucky presses their lips together in a sweet kiss, wanting to sink down on top of Steve after their coupling. All he really wants to do is have a nap after the physical and emotional toll of the afternoon.

 

Looking up at him softly, Steve pushes some errant strands of hair away from his eyes, before his hand travels to cup Bucky's face.

 

Bucky's stomach dips. Oh he really _is_ in serious like with this man.

 

"Buck," Steve murmurs, brushing his thumb along Bucky's cheekbone.

 

"Yeah?" Bucky replies, leaning into the touch.

 

Steve smiles up at him, beatific and tender, his eyes utterly arresting in the afternoon light. He pauses before the smile wanes, shifting his shoulders on the mattress uncomfortably. "... the sheets are really wet."

 

Bucky looks at him for a beat before he starts laughing. They'd traipsed into the bedroom without actually drying off from the hot tub. Steve begins laughing, too. Lying with Steve in the afterglow or having a short nap is not conducive on sodden linen.

 

They both get out of bed after that, changing into comfortable, warm sweats and t shirts. Much to Steve's mortification, Bucky calls housekeeping and asks if it's possible for someone to bring up a fresh set of sheets, while Steve drains the tub, strips the bed, and frantically picks up wet towels from the floor.

 

Ten minutes later, their lovely housekeeper arrives with fresh linens. Steve is too embarrassed to let her make the bed, instead giving her the bundled-up wet sheets and tipping her generously. He then sets about remaking their bed quickly, with military precision. Bucky nods in understanding. When they teach you how to make the bed like that, it never quite goes away.

 

Once complete, Bucky takes the opportunity to jump into the centre of the bed, sitting up against the headboard. Steve rolls his eyes but joins him, choosing to slide a bit further down and rest his head against Bucky's collarbone. Bucky drags his fingers through Steve's blond hair absently.

 

They talk quietly about what they might occupy themselves with tomorrow -- kayaking, no, maritime museum, yes -- and Bucky orders a small feast from room service. It's a little early for dinner, but they're both hungry after their long day, and Bucky reasons they can always order more food later.

 

Steve yawns a lot in the early evening, and it sets Bucky off, too. They forego ordering more food to turn in early instead. Bucky sinks down onto the mattress, facing Steve on the other pillow.

 

"I miss Babushka," he admits, "but she's probably not missing me, running amok at mom and dad's. My mom spoils her like you do."

 

"Your mom is a woman of discerning and faultless taste," Steve replies with a little smile. "I miss her, too."

 

Bucky's mind starts to skirt close to the list of jobs waiting for him when he gets back -- from picking up Babushka from his parents' house to the many interviews Dee is lining up for him to sit in on when he gets back -- but he forcibly pushes those thoughts aside and refocuses on the man next to him. Steve looks tired, and not as good as he'd looked first thing in the morning, but better than when they'd returned to the suite.

 

"I fully intend to take advantage of the time spent not being suffocated by her, though," Bucky decides, making a circular motion with one finger. Steve smiles immediately and turns, putting his back to Bucky, and Bucky shuffles closer, draping his arm over Steve's waist.

 

Steve yawns again, and it's gratifying to hear the even breathes coming from the blond. But just to be sure...

 

"How are you doing?" he asks, and the tone lets Steve know in which way Bucky's expecting him to answer.

 

Steve exhales deeply. "I'm okay," he says presently, squeezing Bucky's hand where it rests on his stomach. "Thanks for listening and... taking care of me."

 

Bucky smiles and brushes his nose at the soft skin behind Steve's ear. "That's _my_ super power," Bucky imparts like a secret, and Steve just chuckles and pulls him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PTSD note: Steve has a PTSD-related anxiety episode when Bucky goes into the ocean, because he remembers essentially drowning in the Valkyrie. Bucky gets him to speak about it, and level out. 
> 
>  
> 
> Further notes:
> 
> * Sarah wanted me to call this one 'The One Where I Stayed Up Until 3am Multiple Nights Writing'. It fucked my sleeping pattern. Absolutely fuuuuucked it. 
> 
> * This is the Harborlight Guest House! Steve and Bucky stayed in the Beaufort Suite: http://harborlightnc.com/beaufort-suite/
> 
> * to me, this was the other half of the Medal of Honor discussion. This is the part that Steve couldn't talk about earlier. He likes omitting detail, and the drowning part wasn't necessarily relevant to the conversation about the medal. Also, he'd not known Bucky for a long time, and this is a big leap of faith for him. 
> 
> * if Steve had thought he'd had a chance to avoid the discussion without tipping Bucky off, however, he definitely would've. 
> 
> * PTSD and anxiety manifest themselves very differently for each person that suffers, and this is how this particular trigger gets Steve. He also has some combat-related issues sometimes, this isn't combat-related, and so his reactions are a little different. 
> 
> * Steve remembers being cold and alone, and so one of his reactions is his need for warmth and to be touched. It definitely manifests itself here. On the other side, Bucky's is all combat-related, so as he mentioned, touch is a very big issue with him. He doesn't want to be alone, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wants to be touched. 
> 
> * Bucky's really trying to balance work+personal, and counsellor+boyfriend. He really is nervous dealing with someone else's PTSD, and he hopes he's doing the right thing. This is kind of like a field dressing, he's not magically fixed Steve, but he's helped calm him down. If Steve wants to work on this, he's going to have to seek some proper help. 
> 
> * Bucky is soooooo in liiiiiiiiiiikee. 
> 
> That's all. If you have any further questions or comments, you know what to do. I'd love to hear from you, and thank you thank you for your continued support, stucky fans. <3


	14. Dating (week 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Big Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry it's been a while! it's been a little more difficult to get this chapter out over the holiday period, what with working additional hours amongst other holdups (that and there were a lot of balls in the air for this one, the juggling was interesting!). But thank you for hanging out. Once again, this was meant to be posted with the Halloween day, which is shorter than this, but after this part took so long, I just want to get it up and out onto the interwebs so you don't have to wait anymore. Working on actual Halloween now. Hopefully it won't take too much longer! 
> 
> Foreverlove to Sarah for the amazing beta once again.
> 
> Additional notes at the end. If you were inclined to drop me a comment to let me know what you thought of the chapter, hell's bells, stucky fandom, that'd make my day. Thank you guys <3

**_The One With The Big Party_ **

****

**_(Location: Avengers Tower)_ **

 

 

The sounds of the party are a little loud and a little obnoxious, but Bucky doesn't expect anything less from a shindig thrown by Tony Stark.

 

Bucky stands off to the side of the massive ballroom-come-function room, a few feet away from the wall. The cool he normally thinks he displays when standing waiting for something is hampered by the fact he's in full costume. Eyes constantly slip to the door as he waits uncertainly, and his face is itching underneath the mask. Bucky scratches it absently and does his best not to wring his hands.

 

"Don't look so nervous," a kind voice says by his left side. Bucky turns to see Pepper Potts stand next to him with a winning smile. Her beautiful red hair is carefully done in two braids. She's Jessie from _Toy Story_ , currently sans hat.

 

Bucky goes to refute her claim, before shaking his head shallowly. "That obvious, is it?" he asks wryly.

 

"Not really, but I'm more than familiar with the anticipation before a big event." She smiles, a shallow dimple showing in one cheek. "You're also standing closer to the door, and spending more time watching it than Steve, so I'm hazarding a guess."

 

At the mention, Bucky flicks a quick glance to where Steve is. He's on the other side of the room, mingling with some representatives of another charity. He's got his 'polite and earnest interest' face going on, nodding and smiling as he's spoken to.

 

Bucky flashes Pepper a little smile. "He can look after himself. I'm more concerned about the kids and their families."

 

Pepper nods. "I have their information, but can you tell me a little about who is coming?"

 

The party is an unfamiliar environment, but this is work, and work-mode takes over. It's almost a bit of a blessing. Bucky's spine straightens, his shoulders go back, and his eyes gain focus.

 

"Denise and I chose three families that represent a good cross-section of the kids we help in the community.

 

"First, there's Oksana, who is ten. She and her younger brother, Yuri, mom and dad emigrated from Russia two years ago. Her mom knows enough English to get by, but Oksana's struggling, and falling behind in school." Bucky winces. "I'd been helping her pick up the slack and then we got so busy I couldn't give her individual time anymore."

 

"Well, hopefully that's going to change now," Pepper says brightly, and Bucky smiles back, moving on.

 

"Next up is Shaylah. She's fifteen and is really bright, very physically active. Her mom died last year, but luckily her brother, Tyrone, was of legal age to become her guardian. He's had to shoulder a lot of responsibility very early. Went from full time to part time at college to be able to juggle work so he can provide for him and his sister. We're trying to help pick up the slack, keep her involved in after school programs and study groups to keep her on track for an athletics scholarship. Also providing additional emotional support at this time."

 

Bucky gives a sigh. "Finally, there's Jacob. He's nine, with a five-year-old sister, Selena. Their dad was in the Army." His mouth sets in a hard, sad line. "He was killed by a roadside bomb three years ago. Their mom looks after them, but Jacob is still traumatised by the loss. He acts out a lot. Selena was only two when her dad died, so she doesn't remember much about him, but Jacob does."

 

Pepper nods quietly, putting a soft hand on Bucky's arm. "So many different kinds of cases. I read Denise's very thorough breakdown of your outreach. Have you had anything to do with the families that are coming tonight?"

 

Bucky nods. "As I mentioned, I have Oksana in my groups, and also worked with her individually. Shaylah is a regular at my weekend outdoor activity-based programs, and also attends plenty of college prep sessions with one of my colleagues." He pauses. "I haven't had a lot to do with Jacob, though I've met him a bunch of times. Denise works with him, primarily."

 

Pepper studies him carefully, and Bucky gets the feeling this woman rarely misses a trick.

 

"It would be a very hard job, some days, but also very rewarding," she says.

 

Bucky breathes out a gusty sigh, but a smile makes its way onto his face. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He stops for a moment, considering the woman in front of him. "I don't know that I've yet properly thanked you for choosing our outreach for this generous contribution. It's going to make such a difference to so many kids, and the community at large."

 

She gives him a demure smile. "Well, I didn't know it was your outreach when the board and I chose it, but it _is_ partially your fault that it was on the cards at all."

 

Bucky frowns. "What do you mean?" He hopes that the information he'd been given wasn't wrong, he'd _just_ gotten used to the idea that it was a fortuitous set of circumstances that led to this situation.

 

"Well, when you were busy taking Tony down a few pegs," Pepper starts, and Bucky has at least a _little_ bit of humility in him to feel slightly embarrassed, "you mentioned that you worked for disadvantaged children. It piqued my interest, and we had been looking to get into more community-based work. When the Howard and Maria Stark Foundation grant was on the cards, I made sure the board shortlisted a few outreaches and children's charities." Pepper smiles at him. "I didn't know until Steve came to speak with me that one of our picks was the organisation you worked for."

 

Bucky's shoulders slump minutely with relief. Pepper laughs lightly. "Yes, it still was pure coincidence," she confirms.

 

"I'm being way too obvious," Bucky remarks ruefully.

 

"Not at all, but I completely understand your situation. When I realised, I didn't mention it to Steve, I didn't want it to be an issue between you. Also, while there's no doubt in my mind that your organisation is extremely deserving, certain... ethical questions on how we arrived at the choice could be problematic in the future. This way, we have a clear timeline and paper trail proving that the only reason you were chosen was because you submitted one of the best applications the board and I had seen in quite some time."

 

Bucky grins. "Please tell Denise that when she gets here. She'll be thrilled."

 

"We've spoken on the phone, I can't wait to meet her," Pepper enthuses. She gives Bucky the once-over, too. "And since I hadn't mentioned before, you're looking _very_ dashing."

 

Bucky smiles and ducks his head a little, tugging the sash around his waist back into position. "Well, I wouldn't look nearly so good if you hadn't helped me get a half-decent Zorro costume," he says. "Otherwise it would've been old fatigues, or the crappy ninja turtle costume I'm planning to go trick or treating in." Pepper laughs, and it's a soothing sound.

 

"Is there any particular reason you chose him?" she asks curiously. It's simple, but striking. Bucky is all in black, wearing a voluminous shirt and high-waisted riding trousers. Black calf-high boots, gloves, a waist-sash and cravat round out the details, with a fabric half-mask and flat-brimmed round hat on his face and head. Pepper had offered to secure him a replica foil to hang at his hip, but Bucky demurred, instead going for a plastic copy. Work-Bucky mode means nothing resembling a workable weapon, not even for a costume.

 

"I always thought the old series was a bit of fun. Turns out Steve saw the movie back in the forties, too. So... bonus." Bucky points to the mask. "But it also covers the majority of my face. I figured there'd be media here, and I'm not in the mood to be photographed. This is about the kids and the outreach, not me."

 

Pepper casts a significant glance back towards Steve, who currently has no less than two photographers tailing him, taking candids, along with a miked reporter. "I understand. Also, so the recipients get some proper time with the team, the media is only going to be allowed to stay for the first ten minutes after the presentations. After that, they're leaving, so everyone can have time mingling without photographers sticking lenses in their faces."

 

Bucky nods in approval, his estimation of Pepper going up _another_ few notches. "That's really thoughtful. It'd go a long way to make the kids and their families feel more comfortable."

 

Pepper waves dismissively. "Not a problem. The media attention is great, but we want everyone to feel easy and relaxed.

 

"And speaking of relaxed," Pepper changes the subject smoothly, "did you enjoy North Carolina?"

 

Bucky smiles softly. "It was... a really significant trip," he decides on, and Pepper gives him a knowing smile. She doesn't know in what way it was significant, but he won't elaborate.

 

Suddenly, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fumbles it out quickly, to see a message from Denise. "They're in the elevator on the way up. I should go meet them."

 

"Of course," Pepper says kindly, gesturing to the doorway of the function room. Bucky flashes her a smile, grabs his Zorro hat, and walks briskly to the door, texting Denise on the way. Outside, past security, he can see the numbers on the elevator steadily increase. Bucky stands in front of the doors and taps his foot impatiently.

 

Eventually, the doors open. He hears JARVIS announce the floor to the overwhelmed occupants. Bucky pastes a big smile on his face and greets them.

 

"Hey, everyone, good to see you! I can't keep this party going all by myself."

 

Denise had already prepped them that he was there and in costume, so Oksana breaks away from her mother and runs straight to Bucky. He bends down and takes her hands.

 

"<Beautiful ballerina, Oksana>," he says, wincing at his pronunciation. He really is quite out of practice.

 

Oksana answers back, but Bucky only picks up every third or fourth word, so her statement doesn't make sense. He looks up to Oksana's mother, Alyona.

 

Alyona smiles. "She say your hat is too big, she cannot see face."

 

As if to prove the point, Oksana pushes Bucky's black wide-brimmed hat off his head, so it falls down behind him. Yuri, dressed like a pirate, giggles behind her, and Bucky makes a mock mad face.

 

"You're not allowed to gang up on me, that's not fair," he tells her.

 

Denise ushers their other charges in, eyes meeting Bucky's immediately, giving him a quick smile and nod. Shaylah is looking nervous, but trying to hide it. Bucky shakes hands with Tyrone, and then Shaylah. Shaylah's chosen to be Red Riding Hood, the cloak she wears a stark and beautiful contrast to her dark hair and skin. Tyrone seems to have done something to match, dressing up partially as a wolf to match her.

 

Finally, Bucky turns to the last family. Jacob looks around warily, but there's an edge of excitement to his expression even as his mother slowly ushers him forward. He sports a familiar set of round wire-rimmed glasses and a lightning bolt scar. Bucky's gaze flicks to his little sister, Selena, and promptly sinks his teeth savagely into his bottom lip.

 

Selena is wearing a Captain America costume.

 

Only it's not the mass-produced girl's costume he's seen in stores. The top half is glittery, and the bottom half is a mass of bright blue tulle. She wears red boot covers that are a little floppy, red gloves, and an oversized facemask representing Steve's helmet. In her right hand, she carries a miniature plastic shield.

 

Bucky's gaze snaps to Denise, who is valiantly keeping a shit-eating grin off her face, because she's a goddamn professional.

 

Bucky's eyes start to water at the effort of keeping the mild smile on his face, and greets them. "Hi Jacob, how are you doing?" Bucky doesn't have a strong, personal relationship with the boy, but that didn't stop him being an advocate for Jacob as a deserving kid to attend the party.

 

"Fine," Jacob says quickly, looking past Bucky. "Are the Avengers really inside?"

 

"Most of them, yes," Bucky confirms. He has already been informed that Dr Banner will not attend, and that Thor wouldn't be able to make it in time. That still leaves an impressive five Avengers out of seven.

 

Jacob and Selena's mom looks to Bucky. "Please tell me Captain America is in there," she says, gesturing to Selena, "or I'll never hear the end of it."

 

Bucky chuckles. "Captain America is _definitely_ inside," he confirms, and Selena grins toothily behind the mask, tugging on her mom's hand sharply.

 

Bucky takes a few moments to explain to them what's going to happen: They'll head into the function room and meet Miss Potts, before taking a seat near the small stage. Miss Potts will give a short speech about the Howard and Maria Stark Foundation, before inviting the representatives from the two recipient groups up to be presented with the cheques by the Avengers in attendance. There's ten minutes of photos, and then time for private mingling. A limo comes to pick them up again at nine pm.

 

"Okay, are you ready to head in?" Bucky asks. Everyone nods gravely, having been hanging on Bucky's every word. "And just remember, your parents and guardians, and Denise and I are here. If for any reason you're feeling a little overwhelmed, need a break or absolutely anything else, just let us know. You got it?" Bucky receives another round of nods.

 

He turns to lead them into the function room, but before he can take more than one step, a small hand works his way into his palm. Bucky looks down to see Oksana smiling shyly at him. He looks back to Oksana's mom, who has her arms full of a wriggling Yuri. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and they walk in.

 

Bucky hears the muted exclamations as they enter the function room. There are lavish decorations and long tables of food, people milling about in all manner of costumes, from the sublime to the ridiculous. While Bucky's been out of the room, Pepper seems to have gotten Steve and the rest of the Avengers assembled onto the stage. Pepper comes over to greet them, shaking Denise's hand profusely. They exchange a few words, and Pepper laughs at something Denise says. She then gestures for them to take a few seats in the front row of the assembled chairs.

 

Bucky and Denise get everyone seated in a timely fashion, and Pepper wastes no time in taking the stage and standing behind the lectern. She introduces the Avengers in attendance: Tony Stark, in an all-too-good Buzz Lightyear costume, Clint Barton wearing a simple Robin Hood, Natasha Romanov in a jumpsuit from the new _Ghostbusters_ movie, and Steve in an Original Series _Star Trek_ Captain Kirk uniform.

 

In deference to the young children present, she gives a short but powerful speech about the goals of the Howard and Maria Stark foundation, and briefly why each organisation was chosen.

 

She then invites recipients from the homeless veteran's hospice up to meet the Avengers first. Bucky takes note at how they react to Steve; the former soldiers greet Stark, Romanov and Barton with politeness, but when they get to Steve, it's a wholly different vibe. They look Steve square in the eye as they shake his hand, spines going straighter, shoulders going back. They look at him with awe and deference, and Steve returns the respect sincerely.

 

Bucky allows himself a little smile, not much more than a curve of the lips. It's always nice to see Steve get the acknowledgment he so richly deserves from his peers. And by 'peers', Bucky doesn't mean other enhanced humans or superheroes, he means fellow veterans.

 

Their representative says a few quick words of thanks, before it's the outreach's turn. The kids are antsy to wait for their turn, but it means that once they meet the Avengers, they don't have to vacate the stage immediately for anyone else to be presented.

 

Pepper calls Denise and Bucky up, who help usher the kids. Stark lets out a loud guffaw when Selena takes the stage, and Bucky's afraid he might get blinded by the flashes that go off. It's worth it for the look on Steve's face when he lays eyes on Selena, who bounds up onto the stage with an enthusiastic exclamation, and then waves to her mother.

 

Steve's eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, and the first person his gaze snaps to is Bucky. Bucky lifts one shoulder in a shallow shrug, giving a lopsided smile.

 

To make it easier on the kids, they line up for a photograph first, and Denise takes the microphone. She gives an eloquent thank you to Pepper and the board for their decision, and thanks everyone working at the outreach, gesturing to Bucky as she does. Bucky nods in acknowledgment, ignoring the flashbulbs.

 

There's a round of applause from the assembled guests, after which Pepper invites the children to talk to the Avengers. They shuffle down the stairs and off the stage, and Bucky casts a quick eye around the room before settling his attention on Oksana.

 

She expresses her nerves to him in Russian. Bucky nods and acknowledges them, then tugs on her hand gently. "Remember you were going to try and speak English unless you couldn't remember the words, Oksana?" he reminds her kindly.

 

Oksana nods jerkily. "Yes, _Yakov_ ," she replies, and Bucky knows she's not _too_ nervous if she can sass him like that. Oksana has never liked his nickname but calls him that as his preference, only using the Russian derivative when she's purposefully having a go at him.

 

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, sassypants, is there anyone you want to say 'hello' to?" She shyly points to Hawkeye, dressed in the green cap. Bucky shrugs. Guess he's meeting Clint Barton for the first time now, too.

 

They walk back to where he's still standing. There's lots of activity around, but Barton seems to be on his own, watching the room. He looks down as Bucky approaches, sharp eyes going from Bucky, to his companion. His outlook immediately brightens, jumping down from the stage.

 

"Mr Barton--" Bucky begins, but is quickly cut off by a horrified look and a wave of his hand.

 

"Clint, _please_. God, I sound like a suit." He slings the very real longbow over his shoulder and offers a hand for Bucky to shake.

 

"Clint," he capitulates, taking the hand slowly. He supposes this could be a good time to introduce himself, but Oksana's standing _right there_ , and he'd rather her get to be the first one to do so. "This is Oksana, and she's wanting to meet you."

 

Clint drops his thoroughly piercing, evaluative gaze from Bucky down to Oksana, where it once again warms considerably. He hunkers down to sit on the edge of the stage so they're more at eye-level.

 

"That's great, because _I've_ been wanting to meet _you_ ," he says, and Oksana gives him a small smile. It grows larger when he takes her hand and kisses the back of her knuckles instead of shaking it, like she was expecting. "Your costume is wonderful," he enthuses, "I mean, really fantastic. Have you ever taken dance lessons? My friend used to wear outfits just like that when she danced, a long time ago."

 

Oksana's brow furrows, mouthing words silently, before looking up to Bucky helplessly. Clint watches the exchange, puzzled. "Did I say something wrong?" he asks Bucky.

 

Bucky addresses Oksana first, thinking he knows what's going on. "<Too fast?>" he queries, and she nods effusively.

 

He turns back to Barton. "Sorry, Clint. Oksana is still learning English. That was all just a bit fast for her to pick up on. If you slow it down a little, she'll be able to understand you a lot better."

 

Clint looks relieved. "Oh, that's fine." He looks to Oksana and smiles apologetically. "I get carried away sometimes."

 

"Is okay," Oksana replies, her voice sounding soft, but confident. "You say again?"

 

Clint repeats his questions slowly, and in more straight-forward terms. Bucky watches Oksana concentrate, taking in every word, before she replies. Yes, she took dance back in Russia, no, her parents haven't found the right school to go to here.

 

Bucky's brain starts to work in the background as he supervises, like a computer program. He didn't actually know that Oksana's family was looking for a new dance school for her. It would probably help get her into a good routine if she started again at an affordable studio. Perhaps he could look into it, seeing as now he's got more time.

 

Barton, in the meantime, has gestured to Romanov, all without breaking eye contact or losing the thread of conversation he's having with Oksana. She walks over, briefly making eye contact with Bucky and giving him a shallow nod, before sitting next to Barton on the edge of the stage, listening intently.

 

It's only when Oksana stumbles over some of her English that she cuts in in Russian, a shade before Bucky gets the chance to. Oksana's eyes open with surprise and pleasure. She answers cautiously in Russian, and when Romanov replies once again in her native tongue, Oksana excitedly calls her mother over.

 

It starts a long conversation between them in Russian, which is completely over Barton's head, and much of it too quick and colloquial for Bucky to follow.

 

Barton excuses himself to stand next to Bucky, watching Natasha hold a lively conversation with Oksana's family, exchanging many smiles. Somehow, Yuri wriggled out of his mother's grasp and onto Romanov's lap. She looks mildly surprised for a moment, but adapts. Alyona seems grateful for the reprieve.

 

"She doesn't get to do that too often," Barton says out of the blue, eyes still trained on Romanov and the children. "If they know who she is, most people from Russia still look at her as a defector."

 

Bucky doesn't quite know what to say, so he just nods. Barton turns to him and gives him another appraising look. He looks like he wants to say something, but spends a moment casting his sharp eye around the room. It makes something in Bucky itch, and he does too, realising that Barton is checking out the proximity of any media. Thankfully, most of the photographers seem to be swarming Stark at this moment.

 

Before Barton can open his mouth, Bucky remembers something from Steve's Tinder profile, as well as a conversation they had a month ago. "So you're Lucky's owner? I've seen a couple of photos."

 

He gets an amiable smile in return. "That's me. And you're the famous Bucky, huh?"

 

"You must have me mistaken for someone else," Bucky says, "I'm Zorro."

 

Barton watches him for a beat before he laughs. "You have the same crappy sense of humour as Steve. I can see why he likes you."

 

Oddly enough, that amuses him. "If it's too cerebral for you, there's no shame in admitting that."

 

"Ohhh, you're _also_ a little shit, he _did_ happen to mention that," Barton says, stroking the short, dark gold hairs on his chin.

 

"Anything else he's said to you about me that I should be aware of?" Bucky asks. There's a big element of humour to asking, but also a thread of genuine curiosity.

 

Barton eyes him speculatively. "Just that you're ex-Ranger sniper -- I approve, by the way -- you work with kids, don't take any shit, not even from Stark -- I approve of that, too -- and you make him do this weird snort-laugh when you text him something funny."

 

He pauses. "I assume that's you texting him, anyway."

 

Bucky tamps down on the idiotic grin that wants to break out on his face, settling for something a little bit milder. "Pretty sure I'm the only funny person he knows, so..."

 

Barking out a laugh, Barton shakes his head. That shrewd, calculating expression has finally faded. It's not gone completely, but then again, Bucky would never expect that. "You're a smartass. I like it; we could always do with one more." He gives Bucky a mildly roguish smile.

 

They both go back to watching Oksana talk excitedly to Romanov, who seems to wear a genuinely pleased smile in return.

 

In the silence that ensues, Barton speaks up again. "I think he's happier. He was never _un_ happy before, but now it's more obvious that he is."

 

Bucky casts a sideways glance at Barton. He didn't know what Steve was like before, apart from seeing him on the TV occasionally. To hear this from one of Steve's colleagues is encouraging.

 

"Me too," Bucky responds quietly with a pleased huff. Barton gives him a charming grin in return and pats his shoulder.

 

Bucky decides that Barton-- that _Clint_ is successfully on par with Sam, with regards to Steve's friends.

 

The party continues, though it still doesn't quite feel like a party to Bucky. He doesn't care much about himself now; he's too busy to even get close to Steve, and his face is mostly covered. His priority is watching out for his charges, and keeping an eye on the photographers. It's more to make sure they press aren't getting too intrusive with his families. He's had a couple of bad experiences before with bullying media, and he doesn't like it.

 

Along with all the other intricate details Pepper has seen to, she must've also vetted the photographers and media reps. They're all unfailingly polite and very respectful to his people. They also kick up no fuss at all at being told their time's up after ten minutes.

 

Bucky doesn't switch off, but he _does_ breath a sigh of relief when they leave. The kids seem to notice the sudden absence of flashbulbs and microphones, but it makes more of a difference to the adults.

 

With Romanov _still_ in deep in conversation with Oksana and Alyona, Bucky decides to let them have some time alone, and check up on the rest of his charges.

 

Stark is having a chat to a star-struck Tyrone, who has been doing a science degree at college, if memory serves. Shaylah talks animatedly to a late-arriving Sam, who catches Bucky's eye and gives him a nod. Clint has moved away to talk to some of the vets from the other grant recipient, and the other VIP guests at the party mingle and drink and eat around them.

 

Over the tops of a few heads, Denise catches Bucky's eye. Casting a glance around, Bucky determines that nobody needs him, so he moves to join her. The kids and their families seem to be doing well, and that's a good thing. Thinking about their comfort and needs has taken the edge off being around a big-ass group of important people he doesn't know, and meeting or hanging around the rest of Steve's colleagues.

 

AKA The Avengers.

 

Bucky joins Denise, who is standing with Jacob's mom, Theresa, watching something magical unfold.

 

Jacob is sitting on a cushy chair, deep in conversation with Steve, who has also somehow acquired a miniature female, sequinned version of himself. Selena has wormed her way into Steve's lap, and is sitting there gazing up adoringly at him.

 

Bucky's hand itches; his phone is burning a hole in his pocket. It's probably not terribly appropriate to take photos of someone else's child, though, especially when he doesn't have much to do with this family.

 

Theresa watches, a tremulous smile on her face. "I can't believe he's talking to Captain America," she offers as they observe, "he still has a tendency to resent anyone who made it back when Gary didn't." She tears her gaze away from Jacob, Selena and Steve, to Bucky. "I'm sorry," she apologises sincerely to Bucky, who accepts it with a wave of his hand.

 

"It's fine. We _all_ know does a lot better with Dee, anyway." Bucky turns to see Steve coax a smile out of Jacob. "And Captain Rogers, as it turns out."

 

Steve looks up briefly when Bucky says his name, flashing a quick smile. Bucky's heart quickens, though he doesn't do more than nod back in answer. Denise, in her beautifully unobtrusive way, stands on the toe of his boot.

 

"He's, ah, very handsome, isn't he?" Theresa mumbles, touching her own cheek, which has gone pink.

 

"I'm an old, married woman, I hadn't noticed," Denise remarks flippantly, even as she smiles cheekily. "Bucky?"

 

"I'm just here for the canapés," he deadpans, and his companions laugh.

 

While Jacob talks to Steve, Selena touches the 'A' on her facemask, then reaches up to touch Steve's carefully-styled hair. He stops talking and looks down at her fondly.

 

"Where's your helmet?" she asks curiously.

 

"It's upstairs," he replies. "I like yours, though."

 

"Where's your shield?" she presses, waving her little plastic disc in his face.

 

"Same place as my helmet," he says, pointing upstairs.

 

"I wish I could see it," Jacob says wistfully, "I've never seen vibranium before."

 

"Would you like me to get it?" Steve asks, and the expressions of joy he receives in return are enough of a reply.

 

Bucky can then see the real war on Steve's face; he wants to get his shield, but he doesn't want to dislodge Selena, who seems perfectly content in his lap.

 

Steve looks up helplessly, and Bucky steps in. "Anything I can help with?" he asks.

 

Steve's face relaxes. "You don't know if Sam Wilson has arrived by any chance, do you?"

 

Nodding, Bucky gestures to his right. "As a matter of fact, I do. He's over there talking to Shaylah."

 

"If it's not an imposition, could you ask him to grab my shield from the 80th floor? He'll know how to get in." He smiles self-deprecatingly. "I seem to be a little stuck."

 

"No problems, Captain," Bucky says, throwing in a very un-military salute, and Steve rolls his eyes.

 

"You know you can all call me 'Steve', right?" he says, addressing not just Bucky, but Denise and Theresa as well.

 

"Even me?" Jacob asks with wonder.

 

"Even _me_?" Selena parrots.

 

" _Especially_ you two," he responds with gravity.

 

Jacob bites his lip. "Mom says I'm not allowed to call grownups by their given names. Says it's rude."

 

"Well, it can be rude without permission," Steve explains, "but I'm giving it to you." He looks up to Theresa, who nods, a sappy smile on her face, her eyes getting a little moist.

 

Well, shit. Steve's just charming the pants off everyone, like Bucky knew he would. Bucky has to tear himself away to accomplish his task, biting his lip all the way.

 

He makes it back to Shaylah, who is still chatting excitedly to Sam. She grins at Bucky as he approaches. "Bucky," Shaylah gushes, bouncing from foot to foot, "Falcon said he's going to visit my school next month! _My_ school!"

 

Bucky's eyebrows arch in surprise. "That's fantastic, Shay," he smiles back. "Do you mind if I borrow Mr Wilson for a few minutes?" Shaylah nods, and Bucky gives her a thankful smile when she moves off to the refreshment table.

 

Sam gives him a curious look. "What's up?" he inquires, pulling his mirrored shades off.

 

"Firstly... your costume is highly distracting," Bucky begins, and Sam gives him a wide, gap-toothed smile.

 

Because Sam has come as Tony Stark. He's trimmed his facial hair a little more, wearing a Black Sabbath shirt with a glowy disk behind it to represent the arc reactor. Along with the aviators and the swagger, he does a decent job at mimicking Stark.

 

"Secondly," Bucky continues, "Steve wants to know if you can go to the 80th floor and get his shield?"

 

Sam nods. "Wants to show off, does he?"

 

"A five year old asked him about his shield. Do you think he could say 'no'?" Bucky counters.

 

"Not in this universe. I'll be back ASAP," he says, squeezing Bucky's shoulder.

 

Seeing Shaylah is now with her brother, he heads back towards Steve and the kids. They're embroiled in deep discussions, but it's not long before Sam returns, hefting Steve's shield.

 

Jacob and Shaylah both exclaim loudly in excitement when Sam passes the shield to Steve. He takes it easily, moving it so much smoother than Sam. The kids are suitably blown away, and Steve spends a bit of time talking about how special vibranium is, and how long it takes to repaint it when it's been damaged.

 

"Hey, how about a photo all together?" Sam suggests.

 

Even crouching, Steve is as tall as Jacob. Selena only comes up to his chest, and has to stand to the side so the shield doesn't completely cover her.

 

"Would you like to wear my helmet, Steve?" Selena asks seriously. "You didn't bring yours down."

 

Bucky bites his lip savagely. Having Steve in the costume helmet mask would be hilarious. Steve looks like he wants to say 'no', but the question has been levelled at him with such sincere gravity, he's boxed into a corner.

 

There ain't no way Steve Rogers is saying 'no' to this little girl.

 

"I think you should keep it on," Steve responds with quiet gravity, before his face melts into the sort of smile that tends to make Bucky's toes tingle. "It wouldn't do to have my best girl without her helmet, would it?"

 

A little swoony gasp goes up from the assembled women, but Bucky only has eyes for Steve and Selena. The girl in question beams her delight and burrows in closer to Steve's large frame. "Good idea," she praises enthusiastically, and Lord in Heaven save Bucky from Steve interacting with five-year-olds.

 

Sam whips out his phone, as does Theresa, and they take photos of Steve, Jacob and Selena. Then Jacob gets one by himself with the shield. Then Steve and Selena get one together.

 

"Your costume needs more sparkles," Selena tells Steve seriously, and Bucky's teeth dig savagely into his bottom lip to keep from snorting aloud. Because not only is she suggesting Steve attack his iconic look with a bedazzler, she calls it a _costume_ , rather than a _uniform_. It's enough to make his eyes water.

 

Steve, to his ever-growing credit in Bucky's mind, doesn't laugh or smirk, but takes her comment as thoughtfully as one can ever take from a tiny child. "I'll look into it," he tells her in a grave manner, "but I'm worried that people might get us mixed up if I'm sparkly like you."

 

Selena's laughter is high-pitched and contagious. "Silly Steve," she chastises him cheerfully, "I'm _five_."

 

Everyone within earshot starts giggling uncontrollably, and Steve cracks a smile. "I'm sorry, I forgot," he tells her, and she pats his hand consolingly.

 

After that, there's a steady stream of people to take Steve's attention. Bucky checks in again with the three families, making sure they're not too excited to forget the refreshment table to eat and have something to drink.

 

While they're getting food, some members of the other lucky charity approach, and Bucky engages the vets in conversation. They congratulate one another on the good fortune to both be chosen for the grant, as each organisation does much-needed work in the community. One of the women pegs Bucky as a vet as well, but Bucky forestalls any conversations too deep when Oksana tugs on his hand, and can't stop speaking about the 'beautiful red lady'.

 

Bucky makes his apologies and tends to his charges, oddly pleased that he doesn't have to do the 'veteran bonding' thing. He's just not in the right frame of mind to get distracted; he is working.

 

Time actually flies, and before he knows it, Bucky's approached by Pepper. "The limousine is getting prepped for collection."

 

Bucky's eyes widen. "It's nearly nine already?"

 

Pepper nods, giving him a large smile. "Went quicker than you thought?"

 

"A little, yeah," he admits.

 

"I spoke to Denise, she's absolutely lovely," Pepper enthuses. "The Foundation doesn't want to interfere with how the funds are distributed, but they -- and I, mind you -- definitely wanted to be kept abreast of how they're being allocated. Not to keep track of you, but it always makes our shareholders and accountants happy when they know their money is being put to good use. So I look forward to calling and speaking to her from time to time. And you, of course," she smiles, one cheek dimpling, "though I don't think you'll be hard to track down."

 

"Dee will love that," Bucky assures, before looking around. "Okay, I'd better start wrangling the kids."

 

"Do you need any help?" Pepper asks.

 

"Sure. It's like herding cats, you'll love it," Bucky grins snarkily.

 

"Can't be any harder than trying to get Tony out of a room," she replies, and Bucky laughs.

 

It takes close to the full fifteen minutes to get everyone together. Selena insists on running back to Steve to wrap her arms around his knees in a hug, and Dee needs to go grab her.

 

When everyone is together, Dee takes the lead and Bucky follows up, ushering the excited group out of the room.

 

Yuri has fallen asleep in his mother's arms, Jacob is opening his mouth in a large yawn, even as he tugs on his mother's arm, spewing a steady stream of facts and information about the Avengers he's picked up over the evening. Bucky escorts them all back to the elevator and presses the button.

 

"Aren't you coming with us, Bucky?" Shaylah asks curiously.

 

Bucky has prepared for his answer. "I have some loose ends to tie up. Besides, my car's downstairs. Ain't no way I'm leaving it with Stark. He might get jealous."

 

Tyrone guffaws, before clapping his mouth shut. "Sorry," he apologises, "it's just that... well, I've _seen_ your car..."

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Everyone's a comedian. Anyway, I'll see all of you next week." He bends down and takes Oksana's hand, squeezing her fingers. "See you on Tuesday, okay?"

 

Oksana nods, trying to stifle a yawn.

 

Bucky approaches Denise and gives her a swift kiss on the cheek. "Have a good night," she says in a voice soft enough that only he can hear.

 

"Thanks," he murmurs in response. "Safe trip back to Brooklyn."

 

"Are you kidding me? We're going in a _limo_ , Barnes. You don't have any cool points left to top that."

 

"Is that so," Bucky smirks. "JARVIS?" he asks, to the air, to the curiosity of those around him.

 

"Yes, Mr Barnes?" JARVIS' polite tones sound around them, eliciting a gasp from Tyrone.

 

"Is that limo ready yet?"

 

"Mr Stark's limousine is currently at street level, awaiting your arrival."

 

As if on cue, the elevator dings and the doors open. Everyone gets in, looking around in wonder to see if they can 'see' JARVIS. They'd assumed the voice in the elevator before was automated.

 

Bucky gives Denise a shit-eating grin and she slow-claps him. "Well played," she admits, and Bucky gives her a sweeping bow, taking his hat off in the process.

 

They say their goodbyes, and the elevator doors shut. Bucky lets out a big sigh and stretches his neck.

 

The work part is over, now it's just... the other stuff.

 

Bucky's obligations for the evening seem to be finished, but Steve's probably aren't. He's not sure how much longer his boyfriend is going to be engaged, so he'd better find something to occupy his time with.

 

Exhaling sharply, Bucky makes his way back into the function room. The party is still kicking away, but Bucky automatically steers away from the large throngs of people to the fringes.

 

He makes his way to the bar to get a bottle of Coke. The bartender is friendly and pops the metal cap off before handing it to him.

 

Bucky removes his hat and takes a long pull of the fizzy drink. There's no one he can see offhand that he recognises, and those he does seem to be quite busy. Bucky doesn't mind so much; it gives him a chance to transition from _work_ to _social_.

 

Unexpectedly, Bucky's pocket vibrates. He takes off his hat, placing it on the bar, before fishing his cell out of his pocket.

 

It's a picture message from Sam, containing the photos he'd taken of Steve and Selena. Bucky starts chuckling and saves them immediately, before typing out a thank you.

 

_Bucky: Christmas comes early once again! Thanks, Sam. If not for you, and the intervention of my cat, I'd never get any incriminating photos of him at all._

 

"What are you doing?" Steve's voice asks from right beside him, and Bucky jumps; he hadn't noticed the approach at all. Putting a hand on his chest, Bucky taps it.

 

"Damn, give a guy a heart attack, Steve," he admonishes, but can't stop a smile from appearing on his face, anyway.

 

"Captain Rogers, would you like a drink?" the bartender asks smoothly, but Steve politely waves him away. He leans his elbows back on the bar, standing next to where Bucky sits, looking out at the sea of people.

 

"Neat event," he remarks, gesturing to the eating, drinking and dancing people.

 

Bucky gives a nod and sips at his Coke. "Yeah. It's pretty lavish, but I was expecting that."

 

Steve nods, drumming his fingers on the side of the bar. There are still charity donors hobnobbing with VIPs, a scattering of politicians and veterans and live action heroes, drinking more and more. Steve's close enough that his arm brushes Bucky's, and the contact is something grounding in the weirdness that is Tony Stark's personal dog-and-pony show.

 

A woman in an elaborate, clichéd Cleopatra costume spies Steve from across the room, her eyes lighting up. She excuses herself from the people she's talking to and begins to make her way towards them, hindered by the volume of people. Bucky and Steve both see her, Steve's spine going a little rigid.

 

He gives Bucky epic side-eye. "Want to get out of here?"

 

" _God_ , yes," Bucky enthuses, pushing himself up from the stool with gusto. He grabs his hat from the bar, puts it on, and looks to Steve expectantly. "This is your home turf. Where to?"

 

Steve takes a moment, and it's almost a thing of beauty to watch his mind work; he takes note of where everyone is -- including Cleopatra -- all the viable exits, which ones are blocked, which are free, and where they're liable to lead.

 

Cleopatra gets closer as there's a gap in the revellers, but Steve puts his hand in Bucky's and leads him directly into the people, melting into the crowd. Even Steve's distinct silhouette is easily camouflaged amongst the elaborate costumes and ostentatious decorations.

 

Bucky has no idea where he's going, which is slightly disquieting, but stamps down on that feeling. It actual fact, it feels like he's a kid and his boyfriend is leading him on some grand adventure, which is kind of awesome. Bucky lets go of any reticence he might be feeling and lets Steve sweep him away.

 

They lose Cleopatra somewhere amongst the people. Plenty of others greet or smile at Steve, and he blithely acknowledges everyone without stopping. With the mask on, combined with not knowing anyone and no longer being on the clock, Bucky doesn't feel the obligation to acknowledge _anyone_ , just continues to let Steve lead him away.

 

Steve takes him through the kitchen entrance the banquet staff are using constantly. Here, his smiles get a little less plastic and a little more genuine. A few greetings of 'Captain' or 'Steve' are thrown his way, but nobody tries to stop him, they're all too busy working. And nobody tells him he's somewhere he's not meant to be.

 

With grace and nimbleness that belies his size, Steve successfully weaves between stainless steel bench tops and scurrying workers, even helping one kitchen hand catch a tray she nearly drops as they breeze past.

 

Steve leads him directly through to the empty corridor on the other side. There's an elevator there, with one plain button on the outside. He presses it, and gives Bucky a charming grin.

 

When they turn towards the doors, Steve catches sight of his reflection in the polished surface and drops Bucky's hand to try and smooth his cowlick back into the carefully combed and gelled style of his costume.

 

Bucky has a private laugh at that. He's seen people dress up as Captain Kirk before. Hell, he's seen the Original Series of Star Trek and Shatner in his glory days, and even  _he_ didn't look quite as good as Steve in command gold.

 

The doors open and Bucky starts chuckling. Upon entering the elevator, Bucky looks around at the stainless steel and glass and the smooth surfaces with no panels. He's put slightly on edge immediately, even though there's probably some incredibly high-tech and amazing reason for it.

 

"Ninety-three, please, JARVIS," Steve says politely.

 

"Of course, Captain," he's replied to in smooth, British tones, and the elevator begins to rise.

 

"No buttons?" Bucky queries.

 

"Restricted levels, authorised personnel only," Steve answers. "And boyfriends," he adds, which makes Bucky shake his head.

 

Bucky takes his hat off and looks at Steve's reflection once again, an odd thought occurring, which makes him laugh.

 

Steve bumps his shoulder gently. "What's so funny?"

 

"I just realised... you got dressed up for Halloween... and you're _still_ a Captain."

 

Steve goes to answer, before pausing. "I hadn't actually considered that. I just really liked the show."

 

The way he says it so very seriously has Bucky laughing even harder.

 

"You should've dressed up as a fictional Sergeant," Steve says encouragingly, before his brow furrows. "Who _is_ the best fictional Sergeant, anyway?" he asks as the doors open, presumably on level ninety-three.

 

"B. A. Baracus," Bucky remarks immediately. At Steve's blank look, Bucky shakes his head, scandalised. "Oh, you need some serious schooling on _The A Team._ "

 

Bucky's attention is drawn from Steve to the room they're entering. It's a strange two-level room with large glass windows, a balcony, a bar, and lots of electronics.

 

Steve places his hand on the small of Bucky's back as they walk in. Through the large picture windows he sees a big chunk of the Manhattan skyline. Presumably that means they're on the top level, the one containing the large platform that sticks out from the main tower and functions as a launching/landing pad for Iron Man.

 

"This place can't decide if it's a laboratory or a lounge," Bucky mutters. It's fucking weird, but it's very _Stark_.

 

There are a few people scattered around the room, some sitting on the assorted couches. As they spot Steve and himself, a cheer goes up and everyone takes a drink.

 

There's a staircase to the left that Steve leads him up, to find half of his team lazing about. Clint and Romanov are close to the bar, on the sofas sit a harmless-looking guy with greying curls and glasses, an attractive, and a not harmless-looking bearded guy that's bigger than Steve. Which is an impressive feat in itself.

 

The two people Bucky's already acquainted with have shed pieces of their costumes for regular clothes -- though Clint still wears the tights and carries the bow -- the two people Bucky doesn't know aren't in costume at all.

 

Bucky suddenly feels a little weird. He takes off his hat and gloves, and after a moment where the cloth mask finally feels too itchy, unties that as well. He lets out a sigh and ruffles his hair.

 

"Hey, hey hey," Barton cuts in as he approaches, before either of them can say anything. "There's two of them, do we need to take another drink?"

 

The curly-haired man shrugs, the huge blond nods gravely. Everyone takes another drink.

 

"What's the game?" Steve asks with a smile.

 

"Every time someone abandons the schmooze-fest downstairs for here, we drink," he says, gesturing to Romanov.

 

She joins them then, handing both Bucky and Steve full glasses of what looks like Coke. Bucky gives the glass a brief look before taking a sip. There's the distinct taste of a spirit as an undercurrent, and he makes a mildly distasteful face.

 

"There's rum in this," Steve murmurs softly, "do you want another?"

 

Bucky considers doing the polite thing and drinking the beverage that was made for him. But he really didn't want to drink tonight, and Steve knows it. He gives Steve a smile. "Yeah. Actually, could probably do with some water."

 

"You got it," Steve beams at him, taking the glass away and heading to the bar.

 

"Something wrong with my drink-making skills?" Romanov queries from next to Bucky. While the question is abrupt, a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

 

Bucky meets her gaze levelly, but makes his tone light. "Nothing, presumably, I'm just not drinking tonight," he replies.

 

Romanov arches a brow, as though he's some puzzle to work out, but lets his answer sit as it is.

 

"Me, neither," the man with the glasses and curls cuts in, and if Romanov was about to say anything else, she clams up. "I'm just here for the canapés." Bucky doesn't know who he is, but he likes him already.

 

"I feel that on a deeply spiritual level," Bucky replies, and he gets a gentle, genuine smile in return.

 

Romanov gives a wry smirk at the pair of them and departs gracefully.

 

Bucky waits for Romanov to get further out of earshot before he speaks up. "Thanks. Felt like I was about to be interrogated."

 

"Oh, you were. Just not by her," the man continues to smile warmly, taking off his spectacles. He holds out his hand. "We've not officially met, yet. Bruce Banner," he says by way of introduction. His hand stays extended almost hesitantly, as though he's not sure Bucky will take it.

 

Bucky's heard of Bruce, and of the Hulk -- both from Steve and from the few reports he's remembered seeing -- he just never thought Bruce would look so... normal.

 

Bucky takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. "James Barnes," he says politely, "but everyone calls me Bucky. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Banner. Steve says good things about you."

 

Banner's smile gets a little less tentative and a little more sincere. "Bruce, please. And Steve says good things about a lot of people."

 

"Yeah, but he doesn't _mean_ it half the time," Bucky replies, and it startles a laugh out of Bruce. "But the things about you, I'll believe."

 

"And why is that?" Bruce asks. His eyes twinkle with humour, but there's a genuine curiosity behind them.

 

Bucky drops his voice. "You seem to be close to the only normal person here," he confesses theatrically, making Bruce laugh again.

 

"I don't know about that, but thanks for thinking so. I suppose, by comparison, I don't look like much," he says.

 

"I've met Stark, so..." Bucky trails off, and Bruce laughs again, before his eyes drift from Bucky to some point over his left shoulder.

 

Bucky then hears Steve approach, and turns to greet him. Steve gives him a lovely smile and hands him a glass of iced water.

 

"You've met Bruce," Steve says in a thoroughly pleased fashion.

 

"I feel like he should've been the _first_ person you introduced me to," Bucky counters.

 

"Who _did_ you meet first?" Bruce asks curiously.

 

"It was Tony," Steve answers, the apology still heavy in his voice.

 

Bruce frowns thoughtfully for a moment, before a light goes off in his eyes. "Are you the guy who told Tony he's short?"

 

Bucky's lips twitch. "I'll have you know, he called me a slew of things first. I'm not proud, it was purely reactive." He pauses for a moment. "Okay, I'm a _little_ proud," he corrects.  

 

"He bitched about that in the lab for a week," Bruce says. "I resorted to ear plugs."

 

"I don't know if I can apologise enough to you for that," Bucky shrugs.

 

"I'm tougher than I look," Bruce gives him a little smirk, and Bucky returns with a light chuckle. Someone catches Bruce's eye then, and he excuses himself with a gentle pat to Steve's arm.

 

Bucky watches him go for a few moments before taking a sip of water. It's a relief to have a good meeting with another one of Steve's colleagues. He lets out a long, slow breath.

 

"Another one bites the dust," he mutters. "Is that everybody now?"

 

Steve shrugs one huge shoulder. "There's still that guy," he says softly, pointing across the room to where the afore-noticed huge blond man talks to Barton. As if he realises he's being watched, the man looks up and catches Steve's eye. He waves and makes his approach.

 

Bucky's mouth goes dry. He's really not sure he's ready to meet a fucking _god._

 

Even if said god is wearing what looks like a dark red smoking jacket. Who's he taking fashion advice from, Hugh Hefner?

 

As he gets closer, it's hard not to notice how attractive Thor is. He possesses many features that Bucky finds supremely attractive in Steve, only amped up further.

 

The hairs on the back of Bucky's neck stand up, and he's not sure if it's some lightning god/electricity in the air thing, or just his regular hackles. There's a fight-or-flight instinct that suddenly kicks in, surprising him. He hasn't felt like this in quite some time. Bucky plants his feet an even distance apart, squares his jaw, and puts his shoulders back.

 

His body language seems to be a dead giveaway to Steve, who circles to Bucky's right and presses the entire length of his body, from shoulder to ankle, into Bucky's side.

 

It's a small thing, but knowing that Steve is there, and also strong and capable should some weird shit suddenly go down, helps bring Bucky's blood pressure down a little. Bucky urges his physical response down, and tries to manually flick his switch to his intellectual side, where he works on observation and behaviour, rather than instinct.

 

Thor greets Steve first, shaking his hand and gripping his elbow. It's a less boisterous greeting than Bucky was expecting, and he's surprised at the quiet warmth. The approach helps ease Bucky's pure physical reaction.

 

"It is good to see you, Steven," Thor says, and his voice tickles Bucky's spine.

 

"And you, Thor. How are things at home?"

 

Bucky notices a brief frown flash across Thor's features, before it smooths away. "My responsibilities to the throne grow with time, but I am still able to find opportunities to visit my good friends on Midgard." He accompanies that with a firm squeeze to Steve's shoulder.

 

Bucky watches the exchange with interest. He admits to having thoughts about what an alien-prince-thunder-god might be like, but the ease and calm with which Steve interacts with Thor changes them somewhat.

 

There's some deep lizard brain in Bucky that still sets his instincts on edge, but that's got a lot to do with recognising a superior individual, one that vastly outmatches him in power and strength. Despite this, Bucky holds his ground and takes his cues from Steve, who speaks to Thor as though he's a dear and trusted friend. Paying attention to Steve actually helps a lot.

 

Thor turns his bright blue eyes to Bucky, and Bucky feels summarily assessed, though it's not as flesh-stripping as what Romanov put him through, nor sharp and calculating as Clint. If anything, Bucky feels a little small, and tries to remember anything Steve might've mentioned as to exactly how _old_ Thor is.

 

"I do not believe we have had the good fortune to be introduced," Thor says, his voice polite and interested. He extends a large hand. "I am Thor."

 

Bucky pauses before he shakes the proffered hand, appreciating the fact that Thor's grip is firm, but not tight. "Bucky Barnes," Bucky says, coaxing a smile onto his face. It takes a turn for the slightly more sincere when he feels Steve's hand slide to rest lightly on his back.

 

Thor's eyes are immediately drawn to the movement, but he doesn't react. He also doesn't react to Bucky's name, so maybe nobody's told him about his relationship with Steve? It _did_ sound as though he might not have seen Steve in a while.

 

"What brings you to this place on a night such as this, Bucky Barnes?" Thor asks curiously.

 

Steve angles his body slightly more towards Bucky's again, hand moving up from the small of his back to the space between his shoulderblades. Bucky looks to Steve briefly, but Steve just smiles encouragingly at him. Bucky guesses that Steve really doesn't mind _what_ he decides to talk about. Bucky supposes he could burst out with the 'boyfriend' information, but Thor is Steve's friend, and it's really not his news to share.

 

"I was at the party downstairs first. My organisation was being presented with money to help disadvantaged youth in Brooklyn," Bucky decides on.

 

"I see. A worthy cause, to be sure," Thor nods in understanding. "I do apologise for not arriving in time for the official festivities, it would have been a great honour to be present."

 

"The kids would've loved you," Bucky admits with a smile. "Maybe another time."

 

Thor nods enthusiastically, before he continues. "You already seem familiar with our good Captain, which suggests tonight is not your first meeting. Have you known each other long?"

 

Bucky thinks back to summer and does a quick mental calculation. "About five months, or thereabouts?"

 

Thor hums in acknowledgment and turns to Steve. "It's good to meet a new friend of yours, Steven," he says, and Bucky gets the impression that Steve's co-workers probably haven't been introduced to too many of his non-Avenging-slash-SHIELD acquaintances, if any.

 

Steve turns to give Bucky a sweet -- verging on sappy -- smile, and his hand drops down to fall into Bucky's.

 

"He's also my boyfriend," Steve adds, fingers tightening briefly around his, and damned if those words don't make Bucky want to laugh hysterically. _What is his life currently._

 

Thor's eyebrows approach his hairline in surprise.

 

"We've been seeing each other for about three months," Steve adds helpfully in clarification.

 

Bucky's not sure what he expects to happen, but Thor's reaction is definitely one of the most guileless and sincerely happy he's ever gotten. The man's face lights up, and he reaches out to wrap each huge hand around the curve of Bucky's and Steve's shoulders respectively.

 

"It truly warms my heart to hear this news," Thor says, and Bucky is taken aback by straightforwardness in his tone, and the way he speaks to _both_ of them, not just Steve. Even though he's only just met Bucky two minutes ago. "Lifetimes on Midgard do not last as long as others in the Nine Realms, but it has been my experience that humans are more than adept at filling their allotted spans with colour, and light, and love. I do wish this, most sincerely, for the both of you."

 

Thor's little speech sends the _both_ of them silent for a few moments. Even Steve is rendered speechless. He puts his hand over Thor's, still resting on his shoulder, and squeezes. "Thank you, Thor." He casts a quick look to a poleaxed Bucky. "From the both of us. Your words and support mean a great deal to me-- to us both."

 

"Of course," Thor says, before a pregnant pause. "Now, I believe it is my duty to discuss some chattering spade with your chosen, is it not?" he asks.

 

It takes Bucky a moment to catch up, and then his eyes go wide. Thor is very bad at keeping a straight face, which helps clue him in.

 

Bucky turns to Steve. "Please don't tell me a Norse God wants to give me the shovel talk. _Please_."

 

Steve shrugs helplessly, even as he grins. Thor's laugh is, in a word, booming. He squeezes Bucky's shoulder encouragingly. "It is the custom of friends, so I have been told," he says, even though the large smile on his face gives away the joke.

 

"Don't threaten him too much," Steve responds gravely, "I like him the way he is."

 

"Of course, of course," Thor capitulates, before encouraging Bucky and Steve towards the sofas. "Come. I would talk and become better acquainted with you, Bucky Barnes."

 

And that's how Bucky spends his Saturday night, sitting on a sofa between a legitimate god-alien-prince of Norse myth, and Captain America.

 

He can't dream this shit up.

 

But that's really just him being dramatic. He already thinks of Steve more as his cheesy, sarcastic boyfriend than a national hero, it takes surprisingly little time after conversing with Thor to start to view him as an out-of-town friend of Steve's. His manner of speech is a little formal, but his interest in and warmth towards Bucky reads as very genuine.

 

Bucky is drawn into a vibrant and interesting conversation with the three of them, where Thor asks him many questions about himself. It doesn't come across as a grilling, however, more a friendly exchange of information. Bucky, too, asks many questions about Thor, his life and family and world, and the responses are _fascinating_.

 

Through the course of their exchange, Thor finds out about Bucky's former service to the military. Bucky doesn't know what it looks like to Thor, as a professional warrior, for him to want to be someone so different from who he was as soldier.

 

Thor is surprisingly sympathetic on the subject. He tells Bucky of the Asgardian warriors who lay down their arms and take on quieter pursuits.

 

"It is not a source of shame or dishonour," he tells Bucky, "it is a reward for bravery and sacrifice. Those who live only for battle often do not outlive those who do not."

 

Bucky sits back on the couch in a slump. "Huh," he says, taking a fortifying sip of water.

 

"Are you all right, my friend?" Thor asks with concern.

 

"Yeah, yeah. I just--" Bucky pauses, trying to think how to frame his words. "I've never needed anyone's validation for my choices in life, first getting into the Army, and then getting out..." he flicks his gaze to Steve, and then Thor, smiling wryly. "But I wasn't expecting you to give it to me, anyway."

 

"I am _quite_ unexpected, or so my lady, Jane, tells me often," Thor smiles back genially.

 

At that moment, the elevator doors open, emptying Sam and Tony out onto the floor. The assembled guests let out a cheer and raise their glasses. Steve looks to Bucky expectantly, holding out his glass of orange juice. Bucky clinks his water glass and they both gulp down two mouthfuls. Thor excuses himself, wanting another drink.

 

"Tony. Tony," Clint greets the both of them in the same deadpan voice when they get to the top of the stairs, and hands them both a beer. Once suitably armed with refreshments, Sam immediately walks over to Steve, and Bucky.

 

"Didn't take you long to get up here," Sam nudges Steve as he sits next to him.

 

"Cleopatra was chasing him, so he rabbited," Bucky puts in.

 

Steve glares at Sam when he laughs. "Discretion is sometimes the better part of valour," he sniffs indignantly.

 

"Like you've _ever_ backed out of a fight," Sam snorts.

 

"You didn't see her," Bucky confides in a stage whisper. "Poised for the kill."

 

"I wouldn't have introduced you two if I knew you were going to gang up on me all the time. Best friend. Boyfriend. Aren't you meant to be on my side?" Steve pleads.

 

Sam and Bucky look at one another before they answer simultaneously: "No."

 

"Who else is going to call you out on your shit?" Sam explains. "Keep you grounded?"

 

"Who lets you play with their kitten?" Bucky puts in.

 

Sam chokes on a mouthful of beer. "I hope you're talking about the little calico I've seen pictures of, and not a euphemism for some weird sex thing."

 

"Captain America doesn't know anything about sex," Steve says gravely, making a sincere effort to furrow his brow and look stern.

 

"I knew it," a familiar voice sounds, and Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes.

 

Stark strides over, divesting himself of parts of his Buzz Lightyear costume as he moves. He comes to stand in front of their couch, just in front of Sam, and Bucky can't help but privately laugh at the millionaire and his doppelganger.

 

"Be careful, Tony," Steve warns, "this is a good look on Sam. He'll be in a suit before you know it."

 

"Na," Sam says genially, "Wings beat repulsors any day of the week. Falcon all the way."

 

"Bite your tongue," Stark gasps, before looking to Bucky,

one dark eyebrow barely cocked. "The famous Bucky returns. It _was_ 'Bucky', right?" he asks, holding out his hand. Bucky glances down at it, pausing a few seconds too long before he leans forward on his seat and takes the proffered appendage slowly.

 

"Pleasure to see you again, Mr Stark," Bucky says with bland politeness.

 

The air charges mildly with tension. Stark can taste his sarcasm, but Bucky's given him nothing to grip concretely on to.

 

"Please. You're making an honest man out of Red, White and Blue, here? You can call me 'Tony'."

 

Bucky smiles then, and it's the fake smile he uses when he visits family and his elderly aunt starts talking to him about her stamp collection. "Sure thing, Tony," he says, giving Stark's hand a reflexive squeeze before letting it go.

 

Stark considers Bucky shrewdly for a moment, before clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Hey, gents, mind if I have a quick tete-a-tete with the Buckster?"

 

Steve's eyes widen minutely and he immediately looks to Bucky. He angles his body towards Bucky, chest brushing Bucky's shoulder. They have a silent conversation with their eyes in which Steve communicates the question of 'are you sure?' and Bucky responds with a reassuring tap on his wrist and an expression that clearly says 'I can handle the dumbass'.

 

"Man, I could use a fresh drink," Sam says as he stands, despite his half-full bottle.

 

Steve nods and stands also. "Bucky, d'you want anything?"

 

Bucky hands him his empty glass. "That'd be great. More water, or a Coke, or something."

 

"You got it." Steve gives him one last, lingering look before walking away with Sam.

 

Stark sits next to him, taking Steve's spot, albeit with a little more of a conservative distance between them. With Steve gone, however, Bucky's face loses a little of its softness. It's all business now.

 

Stark looks over his outfit. "I like your costume. It's very... flouncy, but you make it work somehow."

 

"I look good in black," Bucky says mildly.

 

Stark's eyes narrow before he pushes a jet of air out between his lips, leaning towards him. "Listen, Buckeroo, I know the first time we met it didn't really go well. I said some things, then _you_ said some things--"

 

"All true," Bucky interrupts, and he receives a mild glare.

 

"--some of them were... factually accurate," Stark says. "The point is, shit went down. And then I got it in the ear from Pepper. And then from Steve. And Bruce before he resorted to wearing earplugs, which he doesn't think I know about. _And_ _then Pepper again._ "

 

Bucky listens with a blank face, not giving anything away. It sounds as though Stark is attempting to apologise, albeit in an ass-backwards way. But Bucky wonders how much of the 'apology' is sincere, and how much of his hand has been forced by his colleagues.

 

"Here's the thing," Stark continues, "I like and I trust these people, and they all seem to like and trust you." He waves his hand vaguely. "And pretty much anyone Pepper has time for, I am obligated to like on principal, because she doesn't suffer fools gladly."

 

Nailed it. Bucky moves to open his mouth to protest that one automatically, but Stark makes a 'zip it' gesture with his lips. "I'm trying to offer an olive branch, d'you mind?" Bucky shrugs, but keeps his comment to himself, and Stark continues.

 

"So what it boils down to is that given you make the big, blond guy exceedingly cheerful, there's a good chance you might be around for a while, so I'd like to bury the hatchet. What can I do to smooth things over with you?"

 

Bucky watches Stark shrewdly throughout his entire spiel. He's a showman and a consummate prevaricator, but on the almost diametrically opposed other hand, he's also famous for not bullshitting and telling the truth, too. The fact that he admits that the olive branch comes more from his desire to appease Pepper than his own intention to make amends rings true to Bucky.

 

Stark is a man of somewhat grey principles, but, much like Pinocchio, he has a conscience.

 

It just so happens his conscience is 5'9", located outside his body, has red hair, and runs his company.

 

While his motives might not necessarily be pure as the driven snow, Bucky believes him in his devotion to Pepper. He clearly adores her, and doesn't want to piss her off too righteously.

 

This means... Bucky has an advantage. One he means to press.

 

"First of all," Bucky starts, amused to note Stark's attention laser-focus on him, "You can call me 'Bucky'. If you find yourself incapable of not reducing my nickname to something even more childish, feel free to default to 'James', or 'Barnes', I don't really care which. But I won't answer to anything else."

 

"James, Barnes, Bucky... right. Got it," Stark repeats, agreeing quickly. "Anything else?"

 

Bucky tastes blood in the water.

 

"Secondly... you're Steve's friend, and co-worker. He thinks a lot of you -- not _always_ good things, mind you -- but there's a pretty high level of regard there."

 

Stark peps up like he's going to puff his chest out at the information, but Bucky cuts him off. "I respect his opinion, but I don't necessarily share it. At least--" he continues when Stark -- once again -- goes to interrupt. "--not yet."

 

Bucky takes a deep breath, getting his words together. "It's natural for friends or co-workers to want to share personal information, prod or be curious about details about relationships, et cetera... but you don't ask; you _push_. And you treat his personal life like an oddity. A sideshow." Bucky lets a little bit of steel show in his voice. "It's not. And now that personal life includes me, I think I get a say.

 

"If he wants to share with you on the fly, or if you ask like a decent human being and he responds in kind... fantastic. But if you go about belittling him and I in the way you did when we first met, we're going to continue to have problems."

 

Stark is silent for a moment, a crease between his dark brows. "To be fair..." he begins slowly, "I was pretty busy that day, and I don't always do well when interrupted in the middle of a project."

 

Bucky snorts. "To be fair," he repeats back, "we _both_ know that's just an excuse, and I _know_ you're too smart to believe that's a legitimate response, or that I'd buy it."

 

There's a pregnant pause, in which Stark regards him warily. "I _am_ smart," Stark murmurs, before giving a world-weary sigh. "And sometimes... _just sometimes_... I'm not the easiest person to get along with."

 

Bucky nods gravely. "I think you're forgetting the word 'asshole'." Before Stark can look too offended, Bucky offers a grin. "But it's okay, so'm I. _Just sometimes._ "

 

Stark looks at him for a moment before shaking his head and laughing softly. "'Assholes recognise one another'," he quotes the text he sent Steve after that first meeting.

 

Holding out a hand, Stark stops laughing. "Okay. As a founding member of _Assholes Anonymous_ \-- heretofore referred to as _AA_ \-- do you accept my apology so all my friends will stop whining about it?"

 

Bucky takes his hand and shakes it. "I'll do you one better, as a gesture of good faith; I'll tell Pepper you did a good job."

 

Stark starts pumping his hand in earnest. "Oh, thank _Christ_. I'll turn over a new leaf and everything."

 

With a smile, Bucky stops shaking Tony's hand in favour of one long squeeze. "Don't knock yourself out. Just... respect his -- respect _our_ \-- boundaries."

 

"Got it, Bucker-- _Barnes_ ," he corrects swiftly, wearing a guilty expression like he's mucked up already.

 

Bucky arches a brow, but he supposes Tony is allowed a slip-up at the beginning. He snorts and gives his head a little shake, and Tony responds with a slightly sheepish grin.

 

Steve returns and hands a glass of Coke to Bucky, moving to sit on Bucky's other side. Bucky looks to Steve and gives him a grateful smile. "Actually my hero," Bucky says, his throat parched.

 

Bucky observes Tony through his lashes, wondering if he'll take the obvious bait, even though he's just promised some decorum. He opens his mouth and Bucky's prepared for some snide remark, despite the truce.

 

"Admiral Ackbar warned me about this," he says, and Bucky nearly snorts a mouthful of Coke painfully through his nose.

 

Steve looks a little confused. "Which Admiral?" he asks, and while Bucky knows Steve's not completely culturally deficient, the reference is just subtle enough for him to not pick it up. Tony, however, looks to Bucky and grins.

 

"You can explain that one, Barnes." He stands and claps Steve on the shoulder, before departing generously.

 

Steve looks to Bucky. "I missed something," he states.

 

"Nothing important," Bucky mollifies, leaning into his chest. Steve smiles and moves to meet him, brushing a gentle kiss across his lips.

 

The elevator doors open, drawing everyone's attention to the lower floor. Finally finished with her obligations downstairs, Pepper is the last person to join them in the lab. A cheer goes up and everyone toasts her arrival, while Tony immediately moves to greet her.

 

Now that Pepper is here, Bucky gets the impression that the entire 'family' is together, and everyone seems a little more chipper.

 

"So," Steve begins now that they're alone, sipping at his drink, "you didn't maim Tony."

 

Bucky gives a one-shouldered shrug. "He wasn't a _complete_ asshole," he admits.

 

"Just part of one?"

 

"Yeah. Like me."

 

Steve snorts indignantly. "Like hell. You're amazing."

 

Bucky puts his glass on a nearby table and leans back on the sofa. "You're biased because I let you play with my cat and see me naked."

 

"Occasionally even at the same time," Steve adds, and Bucky barks out a laugh.

 

Steve hunkers down into the sofa a little as well, pulling Bucky flush to his side. It's a bit strange to be more touchy-feely here, but a quick glance around confirms that none of Steve's friends are paying attention to them.

 

Plus... they're _Steve's friends._ The cat's out of the bag, and they don't seem to mind that Steve's got a boyfriend.

 

"So I have a question," Steve says, fingers lightly pulling at a ripple in Bucky's voluminous, black shirt.

 

"I have an answer," Bucky responds.

 

Steve smiles softly. "When I was meeting Jacob and Selena, their mother was talking about how Jacob didn't do well with other soldiers usually, and apologised to you. What for?"

 

Bucky has to momentarily rewind to that moment earlier in the evening. "You heard that? I thought you were listening to the kids."

 

"I can multitask. Also... I hope you came here for _more_ than just the canapés."

 

"The canapés _were_ good, though," Bucky muses, and Steve gently elbows him in the side.

 

His smile fades and he grows serious. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me, or if... I don't know, it breaches any confidentiality issues? I was just curious."

 

Bucky tucks himself into Steve's side a little more. "It's okay. If anything, it's more about me than him." Steve gives him an encouraging look as Bucky fiddles with the buttons on cuffs of his shirt, undoing them.

 

"Remember how I told you a while back that I didn't handle the PTSD kids we get because it wasn't a good fit?" Bucky asks, and Steve nods. "We realised this after I actually _tried_."

 

Steve doesn't say anything, but his attention becomes incredibly focused on Bucky. Bucky sighs and doesn't make eye contact with Steve, choosing instead to watch Romanov behind the bar at the far wall. Romanov sees him from where she stands, and gives him a small smile. As odd as it is, it's encouraging.

 

"I'd probably been at the outreach for six months when Jacob came to us. I figured-- we _all_ figured I might have some insight to offer him.

 

"Jacob was, and to an extent, still _is_ , very angry. Clever kid, but mad that his dad was gone, mad at everything. Real chip on his shoulder." Bucky looks at Steve quickly. "I'm not blaming him for that, or saying he shouldn't be that way, it's just a fact."

 

"I understand," Steve says gently, then falls silent for Bucky to continue.

 

"Anyway, I sat down with him to talk a few times, thinking my veteran status would make me more relatable to him. But it became pretty clear he was having none of it." Bucky lets out a sigh, and Steve lays a comforting hand on his bicep. Taking a deep breath, Bucky continues.

 

"I mentioned the kid was smart, right?" Steve nods. "He started pushing my buttons, asking really hard questions. Stuff that I couldn't in good conscience answer. Working with him didn't improve his situation, and I ended up feeling... frayed. Stretched thin. Angry. Denise thought perhaps it wasn't a good fit, and so she took on his case, and continued to take all similar cases after that." Bucky gives Steve a tremulous smile.

 

"He does _so_ much better with Dee, so that's a really good thing. And I still see Jacob and his family at the outreach, or sometimes at group events, but he's not particularly warm to me, and I don't have that much interaction with him. Sort of feels like I let him down." Bucky shakes his head shallowly. Even knowing there's nothing he could do to change what happen or help, it still sometimes feels like a mini failure on his part. He wishes he could've done more, or been stronger. Whenever he sees Jacob, he's reminded of this blind spot in his ability, and it irks him.

 

"You didn't let anyone down, and he's getting good help from Denise, I'd wager. Helping him was not worth the cost to your own mental well-being." Steve says gently.

 

Bucky snorts. "You sound like Dee."

 

"That's because she's smart, and so am I," Steve says confidently.

 

"You jump out of planes without a parachute," Bucky reminds him scathingly.

 

"It's only dumb if you know you can't do it," Steve replies conspiratorially, and Bucky can't help but let out a chuckle.

 

Steve leans in to press his dry lips to Bucky's temple, and Bucky lets his eyes slip shut. "You're very brave," he says in an admiring tone.

 

Bucky snorts. "I'm not sure that applies here," he says.

 

"Didn't you once tell me I was brave for admitting some shit was hard to deal with?"

 

Bucky pauses, before he opens his eyes to stare inscrutably at Steve.

 

"It's not fair when you use your eidetic memory and my own words against me," he gripes.

 

"Steve Rogers don't always fight fair," Steve answers back, nuzzling Bucky's temple.

                               

Bucky lets out a breath he'd been holding in. "Apparently not," he replies softly.

 

They stay on the couch together for a while longer, talking quietly. Eventually, the rest of the Avengers and Avengers-adjacent people begin joining them at various times.

 

There is fun and interesting conversation on the offering, and while Bucky doesn't always know the ins and outs of what they discuss, he never feels like he's being left out; Steve will whisper little tidbit explanations to him from time to time, or it's something Bucky avidly understands. He even contributes a fair bit, but by and large he feels his biggest contribution is to give Steve's hands something to play with.

 

Steve's hands are constantly in contact with him, whether it's dusting invisible lint off the shoulder of his shirt, or resting a hand on his arm, or his chest, or even raking through his hair as he goes to get them fresh drinks. It's nice that he feels comfortable enough in front of his friends, but at the same token, Bucky's really glad he's not going full PDA on them. Apart from Bucky not really being super demonstrative in public, it'd feel weird in front of this particular group.

 

The fact that Steve's body language is so comfortable here, and he's the person Bucky knows him to be in private, is a lovely bonus. Not only has Bucky had the chance to hold his own as an individual in front of these people, but Steve has also presented them to his closest friends _as_ a couple, and that feels significant. And really nice.

 

The points of contact are agreeable, but Bucky eventually starts to get restless. He holds out for a little, until it becomes clear that he's not the only one; Bruce is the first one to excuse himself, calling it a night. Next is Pepper, who, despite it being Sunday tomorrow, has more work to do and needs an early night.

 

Bucky takes the exit opportunity, inclines his body towards Steve's, takes his hand and squeezes his fingers. Steve, who's listening to a rambling Stark story, looks at him questioningly.

 

"I'm done," he says in a low voice.

 

Steve doesn't look for any further clarification, apparently, that's enough. He waits for a moment, because even Stark has to take a breath every now and then, stands and reaches out to Bucky to help him up. "We're off, everyone," Steve announces in that tiny pause, to a sad little exclamation.

 

After a blessedly quick round of goodbyes, Steve ushers Bucky downstairs and back to the elevator they first entered at. He asks whether Bucky wants to stay or go home for the night.

 

Steve has already filled Bucky in on the space that Tony has set aside for Steve should he ever want to remain in the tower, just in case they didn't feel like hoofing it back to Brooklyn tonight. Bucky stifles a yawn. Brooklyn is _definitely_ happening tomorrow.

 

Steve interlaces their fingers in the elevator as it travels thirteen stories down to floor eighty, brushing his thumb rhythmically over the soft skin on the inside of Bucky's index finger.

 

Bucky had packed an overnight bag just in case, which JARVIS informs him has courteously already been delivered to Steve's room. Bucky grumbles a little because it means someone poked around his car to _get_ said bag. Given he had is car goddamn valet parked when he arrived, he supposes it's not terribly surprising.

 

Steve's apartment in Avengers Tower is luxurious, but not lived in. It feels like a hotel; clean and impersonal. There are things that a layman might think Captain America might like, but if you know the man, there's little to appeal to _Steve Rogers_. Bucky does take note that someone has brought up Steve's shield and placed it by the door.

 

"I don't stay here much," Steve admits. "I prefer my apartment, but it's very nice of Tony to have this for me when I am here."

 

"Complete with turn-down service and twenty-four hour surveillance," Bucky comments wryly, setting his costume pieces down on the sofa, and kicking off his boots.

 

"Oh, I allow JARVIS to monitor life signs, and limited audio, only," Steve says informatively. "I like my privacy, too."

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Really?" he queries, turning to face Steve, hand on his cocked hip.

 

"Mhm." Steve moves to stand in front of Bucky, fingers slowly undoing the buttons of his black, voluminous shirt, pressing a kiss to the side of Bucky's mouth.

 

"Seems like a suitable reward for surviving a Stark party," Bucky grins, undoing the sash from around his waist and throwing it behind him haphazardly.

 

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" Steve queries. "They're generally not my speed, but an occasional necessary evil. Still, sometimes they're for really good things, like tonight."

 

"Look, it wasn't the worst party I've ever been to," Bucky admits. "And it was fun seeing you in that element." Bucky scrambles for his phone and quickly pulls up the photo Sam sent of Steve and Selena with the fake helmet and real shield. "This is my new favourite photo of you ever," Bucky admits in a stage whisper.

 

A light flush stains Steve's cheeks, but he's not overly embarrassed. Instead, he untucks Bucky's shirt from his pants and pushes the fabric off his shoulders. Because Steve Rogers can be ridiculously single-minded sometimes. "I know the first part was obligation, but..." he breathes out softly, "I'm really glad you came as my date for the second half."

 

"And met the rest of the family, _and_ got the shovel talk from fucking _Thor_ ," Bucky finishes, letting his shirt fall to the floor, and pulling fitfully at Steve's.

 

" _I_ think you could take him," Steve says, "You were clearly the most badass man in that room." He pulls the gold long-sleeved shirt off his head and tosses it away.

 

They stand together shirtless, Steve's hands resting on his biceps. "I only have room in my life for one stupidly buff, blue-eyed blond, and that position is already filled," Bucky says. With Steve beaming a smile, Bucky takes him by the hand and pulls him towards the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Bucky's costume: http://pre07.deviantart.net/8a40/th/pre/i/2015/225/c/0/the_mark_of_zorro__1940____tyron_power_by_metek09-d95jp3a.jpg
> 
> * Selena's costume: https://au.pinterest.com/pin/171559067026847026/
> 
> * There was no communal breakfast. Bucky got up early, he and Steve shared a quiet, private breakfast in Steve's apartment, and then Steve escorted him to the garage. Bucky picked up his car and went home. Tony's probably disappointed. Bucky and Steve don't care. 
> 
> * Steve doesn't know the person who was in the Cleopatra costume, he was just done with the socialising and wanted to have Buckytime. 
> 
> * The Admiral Ackbar reference is of course... "It's a trap!" Star Wars, for the non sci fi nerds playing at home. 
> 
> * Picture floor 93 to be the same floor the party scene in Age of Ultron takes place. According to the Marvel wiki, the Stark/Avengers tower is 93 storeys high, the top ten floors being R&D (as per the Avengers movie). In AoU, the floor where they're partying is pretty much that top floor with the platform that extends out from the body of the building and into the open. 
> 
> * Steve lives on floor 80. Just because. 
> 
> * I hope you liked how Thor appeared in this. I know he's easy to make the butt of jokes, having him speak excessively old-timey, or just make him far too boisterous. I wanted to channel the Thor from The Dark World, who is slightly less reckless, growing in his responsibility, and beginning to act more like a mature adult. He's still a little cheeky, and likes to have a joke, but he's not the comic relief. 
> 
> * I'm not trying to pick on Tony in this fic, but he gave Bucky a less-than-auspicious first impression, so Bucky's not got the greatest sense for him. This is hopefully the start of a better relationship, though until Tony properly starts easing up on the mother henning of Steve's relationship, and stops being unintentionally insulting, it won't progress too far. 
> 
> * Natasha and Bucky are still mysteries to one another. 
> 
> * There are seven Avengers because I'm including Sam. As established in a previous chapter, he's recently become official. 
> 
> * In the last couple of months, it's come to my attention that a few readers felt that Bucky sounded a bit racist when he was swiping through Tinder and disallowed matches based on whether the people had dreadlocks or not. I think most people didn't think anything more of it, but to some, it wasn't coming across how I intended, and made those view Bucky in a way that wasn't fitting with his character.
> 
> Ultimately, it's just a line in a long list, and none of the story hinges on it. I'm not singularly attached to it, so I've removed it. Thanks for the reader who brought it to my attention in an informative and respectful manner. 
> 
> If anyone reading has any further concerns you are more than welcome to bring them up with me, either in the comments section, or if you prefer more privacy, you can find me on tumblr at fannishflightsoffancy.tumblr.com.
> 
> A huge and heartfelt thank you to everyone for continuing to read and support this story that seems to be getting bigger and more involved with each chapter. Goddamnit, I only wanted to write a stupid tinder meet-ugly, look what happened -_-


	15. Dating (weeks 13-14)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One Where They Go Trick or Treating  
> * The One With The Instagram Post  
> * The One With The Concessions To Modern Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, stucky fans! I slogged it out to actually bring this fic back to its original format, which is shorter vignettes of different scenes. Of course, that's all going to be blown out of the water next chapter, but who cares. :) With fitting these three in now, it means I can get to an important part of Bucky and Steve's arc next chapter! Woo! I am excited.
> 
> Super duper huge thanks to Sarah, without whom this fic would not be possible. She's my sounding board for everything, and is the fastest beta I've ever worked with. I've done my fixing, but if there are any errors, they are mine. Please feel free to let me know if I've botched something. 
> 
> I get so excited when I get the comment emails for this fic. It's just so gratifying to read them as they come through, I get so excited to show you what's going to happen next. Things are moving along! If you wanted to let me know what you thought, you basically turn into the best person ever. It's a legitimate thing, no #alternativefact :)

**_The One Where They Go Trick or Treating._ **

 

**_(Location: Brooklyn neighbourhood)_ **

 

"Are you sure this costume is okay?" Steve asks, pulling at the beanie nervously.

 

"It's fine," Bucky assures him, tying an orange bandana around his eyes. "At any rate, if someone doesn't pick you for a Ninja Turtle, with all the green and the muscles, they'll probably just assume you're the Hulk."

 

Steve gives him the bitchiest expression. "Oh, ha ha."

 

Bucky and Steve are on the driveway out the front of Becca and Nick's place, waiting for her to wrangle the kids out the door. Nick is staying back to hand out candy, seeing as there are other adults out to help his wife with their kids.

 

Steve points to his bandana. "I figure there's a reason for the colour coding... why am I the red one?"

 

Bucky shrugs and pops a piece of gum in his mouth. "You should probably have the blue bandana for Leonardo -- he's the responsible and dedicated leader of the team -- but Bobby's Leo. Because _all_ little boys love Leo. So I picked Raphael for you instead."

 

"Raphael," Steve muses, "what's his story?"

 

Bucky gives Steve a shit-eating grin. "Well, he's the guy with deep-seated anger management and impulse control issues who likes action first and talking later." He gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Thought you might be able to relate to a few aspects."

 

Steve puts a palm to his chest in offense. "I'm shocked that you think that of me. Truly."

 

Bucky leans forward and brushes his hands over Steve's hip, cheek coming close to his boyfriend's. "You'll get over it," he murmurs, tucking the pair of plastic sai better into Steve's belt.

 

The costumes are simple; green t shirts with the turtle shells printed on them, green knit beanies and bandanas over the top. When Steve agreed to come trick or treating, Bucky made an emergency run to _Hot Topic_ to make sure Steve wouldn't be busting out of his costume shirt.

 

If there's one thing Bucky knows, it's how to be unobtrusive in public. A big guy in a shirt showing off his broad shoulders and muscles is going to attract attention. A big guy in a slightly baggier shirt that hides his physique is much easier to glance over. Combined with the beanie over Steve's blond head, and the bandana, figuring out it's him is a lot harder.

 

It doesn't stop Steve from looking attractive, it just reduces the likelihood of him being recognised.

 

Every time they're going out, they're running the risk of Steve being recognised, and Bucky knows that it doesn't matter how close Steve plays it, it's going to come out eventually. The guy makes TMZ when the paps catch him on a run after the six a.m., with that kind of scrutiny, it's only a matter of time before Bucky's seen in his company a few times and people start questioning Captain America's male friend.

 

It's going to be something that they can't keep under wraps forever, but just for this moment, in dorky costumes in his sister's neighbourhood in Brooklyn, Bucky and Steve can just be normal. And Bucky won't fail to treasure each moment like this.

 

Steve purses his lips cutely, and looks like he wants to say something, when the door to Rebecca and Nick's opens. Rebecca is there, in the same sort of shirt as Bucky and Steve -- only her bandana is purple -- trying to wrangle two small children. Nick waves as he stands by the door with Robert, but as soon as he sees Bucky, he slips out of Nick's grip and runs down the path as fast as his little legs will carry him.

 

Rebecca and Nick both make to chase him, until they realise his safe destination.

 

Bucky grins and crouches down to scoop him up into his arms. "Heyyyy buddy," Bucky grins, readjusting the blue bandana so the eyeholes line up correctly.

 

"Bucky," Robert says very seriously, waving a little jack-o-lantern bucket. "M'get candy?"

 

"That's right. So much candy, you'll be on a sugar high for hours and your mom will pitch a fit."

 

"That's not funny, Bucky," Rebecca grouses, adjusting Isobel on one side of the double-pram. She's wearing the skeleton onesie and has some vague eyeliner marks on her cheeks to denote a skull. "If you do that, I'll send him for a sleep-over at his beloved uncle's apartment. Newsflash: There will be no sleep."

 

"Just like when I stay over," Steve murmurs in an undertone and Bucky suddenly coughs.

 

"Filthy, Rogers," Bucky whispers with a disbelieving shake of his head.

 

"What?" Steve asks innocently, "I just meant Babushka keeps me awake."

 

"A likely story," Bucky mutters, before looking down to Robert, who is staring at Steve curiously. "Bobby, you remember Steve?" Bucky asks in a gentle voice. "He played trucks with you at Grannie and Pop's place."

 

Steve gives a little wave and a hopeful smile. "Hi, Bobby."

 

Bobby looks at him appraisingly for a moment, before he responds. "Steeb, trucks," he says with a modicum of confidence.

 

"That's right. I love playing with trucks," Steve says, and Bobby grins at him.

 

"Trucks are gooooooood," Bobby replies, drawing out the word and cocking his head to the side, enough that Bucky has to readjust his grip lest the little boy flip himself out of his hands.

 

"Gooooooooooood," Steve responds.

 

"Gooooooooooooooooooood," Bobby chirps again.

 

"Oh dear God, they're stuck in a loop," Rebecca says, even though there's a smile on her face. "How do you reboot your boyfriend?"

 

"He's analog, not digital. I haven't figured it out, yet," Bucky answers.

 

"Didn't have to put up with this back in the Great Depression," Steve sniffs.

 

"You didn't have proper Halloween, either," Bucky reminds him. "Speaking of which, are you guys ready to get some candy?"

 

Bobby whoops in excitement, nearly smacking Bucky in the face. Isobel lets out an excited squeal, but only because her brother does, not because she has one clue as to what's going on. It's still cute.

 

With Robert proclaiming he's a big enough boy to totter down the sidewalk on his own, he nearly wriggles out of Bucky's grip. The little boy has to listen to a stern lecture about being allowed to walk as long as he stays on the path and goes nowhere near the curb.

 

"Everything but the sidewalk and your pram is _lava_ ," Bucky intones gravely and Bobby's eyes widen, before he nods solemnly.

 

With the ground rules in place, trick or treating begins in earnest, and it's a singularly enjoyable practice. Not only does Bucky get to experience Isobel's first Halloween, watch her getting cooed over by homeowners and other parents alike, but he gets to see the holiday through Steve's eyes, too.

 

Steve seems fascinated. His eyes are constantly roving to the bedecked houses, kids running past in as witches and wizards and heroes. There is an atmosphere of excitement and joy, and watching Bucky's nephew and niece get crazy about the candy is fun.

 

He tugs on Bucky's arm to point out some of the more elaborate, decorated yards, with spooky things strung up in trees or over fence posts. It's endearing to see Steve so excited.

 

While Robert initially side-eyed Steve, he soon remembers all the fun he had playing trucks, and starts demanding more and more of Steve's attention. First it's shooting him shy smiles, then babble-talking to him where even Bucky can only pick up every third word -- and he's fluent in excited Bobby-speak -- to holding his hand as they walk. Bucky finds himself barely able to cope with how Steve has to bow down to make it happen. Rebecca elbows him and Bucky can't help but snap a photo of them with their hands joined.

 

"Bucky," Becca whispers, "how can you function? He's fucking adorable."

 

Bucky shakes his head, unable to tear his gaze away from his boyfriend and nephew. "I have _no_ idea, sis."

 

Becca laughs lightly and lets Bucky take Isobel's pram. The shade is up as it's late afternoon, allowing a bird's eye view of her cute, mousey-brown head as it looks around at everything curiously.

 

"So," Rebecca starts, "change in effect at work yet?"

 

Bucky avoids some broken pavement on the sidewalk. "Started the first round of interviews for new therapists late last week, continuing into this week. Tomorrow I get to start calling contact references and seeing how they pan out."

 

"I know how much you _love_ to be on the phone," Rebecca says sarcastically.

 

"Joy of joys," Bucky sighs. It's good, no, it is. But _damn_ , is it a process.

 

Still, the effort is necessary. He'd rather do his best to root out any problems now, rather than be responsible for hiring someone that might not be a good fit for their kids or their work environment.

 

"How many new guys do you think you'll get?"

 

"Hard to say. We have a new receptionist, who will be able to take a lot of the more tedious office-jobs off our hands. Given the wage situation... I'm thinking maybe one full-time and one part-time therapist should do it." He shrugs. "Hell, even one full-time or two part-time would work, if that's all we can find. We're not going to hire a body just because, y'know?"

 

Becca squeezes his shoulder. "I know. Meanwhile," she gives him a sidelong grin, "perks of the grant include Stark parties, right? Or is that more of a boyfriend perk?"

 

"I am consistently amused by your use of the word 'perk'," Bucky shakes his head. He lets out a sigh, and cocks his head to the side. "It's a thing. I mean, it's _interesting_ , don't get me wrong, but not really my scene. Not really Steve's either, but it's something he's got to do from time to time."

 

"It's traumatic having to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, isn't it," Becca bemoans, though she gives him a little smile to let him know she's just joking.

 

"The canapés were flown in from Canada. I mean, they didn't even come from another _continent._ Stark's disappointed me bitterly." Becca laughs lightly and looks to him fondly. Bucky deliberately leans into her for a moment and bumps their shoulders together. It's been a little while since he's had grown-up chats with his sister, her bailing him up about Steve notwithstanding. He always liked the way she responds to the unexpected.

 

With that in mind, he drops his next truth bomb accordingly. "Met Thor, though," he throws out casually.

 

Rebecca stops in her tracks, mouth falling open in disbelief. "Why didn't you _open_ with that?!" she hisses at him.

 

"You asked about work first," Bucky reminds her, chuckling. "This is boyfriend stuff, not work stuff." Because Bucky can compartmentalise like a badass mother.

 

As they stop from house to house, Steve and Bobby slightly ahead, Bucky tells his sister how meeting the remaining members of the Avengers went.

 

"--so Thor has his hammer on the coffee table, and it really is... magical, I guess is the best term. Everyone's taking turns to try and lift it and it doesn't budge. I mean, nothing. _Rockets_ do not make this thing move--"

 

"Did you try?" Rebecca asks.

 

"What am I, stupid? Of course not. So anyway, they cajole Steve into giving it a turn--" Bucky breathes out, still slightly in disbelief, "--and it moved."

 

Becca screws up her nose at him. "What do you mean?"

 

"I _mean_ , it _moved._ Just a tiny bit, half an inch, max."

 

"What's the deal with the hammer again, anyway?" Becca gets distracted by Isobel's yowl when she 'accidentally' throws a stuffed bunny out of her pram.

 

"I don't know the whole story, but only Thor can lift it. As in, _nobody else can_. It didn't even shift when anyone else tried," Bucky explains. "I caught a quick look at Thor's face when Steve was having a go. He looked pretty shocked."

 

"Why is that?" she presses.

 

"Something about whoever's worthy for the throne of Asgard?" Bucky shrugs. "He's a god-alien who lives in outer space. I was just trying to keep my tenuous hold on sanity."

 

"Afraid to say that ship has already sailed, brother o' mine." She pats his arm consolingly, and Bucky flips her off, making sure neither his niece or nephew are watching.  
  
"Can I pick her up?" he gestures to Isobel, who is still fussing in her seat.

 

Becca nods, and Bucky immediately moves to unbuckle her. He hoists her with gusto, and she lets out a whoop of excitement.

 

It's probably a mistake, but once Bucky picks Izzy up, she never wants him to put her down. He's surprisingly okay with his tiny, wriggling, skeleton bundle.

 

Steve and Bobby take the lead to most houses, followed closely by Bucky holding Isobel, and Rebecca pushing the pram. She complains about being the one left holding the bag, but Bucky knows that she's enjoying not being immediately responsible for her two tiny humans right this second. It allows her to just enjoy observing, taking the occasional photo.

 

Izzy's bucket is half the size of Bobby's, but rather than care about the candy to eat it, all she seems concerned with is the more candy that goes in, the more shaking the bucket sounds like a big maraca.

 

After visiting another two houses, Bobby feels ripped off that his baby sister is catching a lift with her favourite uncle. He turns to Steve and tugs on his jeans, mouth set in a little pout.

 

"Steeb! Steeb! _Up_!" Robert demands, and Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek.

 

"Up, _please_ ," Rebecca corrects in that world-weary mom kind of way, but it's too late. Steve has already capitulated and scooped Robert up like he's nothing, a large grin on his face. He puts the little boy on one of his huge shoulders, and Robert grips the side of Steve's head tightly.

 

Bobby's jack-o-lantern bucket keeps whacking Steve in the cheek, so he turns and looks helplessly at Bucky and his sister. Rebecca rolls her eyes good-naturedly and bargains with Bobby to let his candy bucket be put in the seat of the pram for safe-keeping, in exchange for Steve continuing to hold him.

 

It makes Bucky _so damned happy_ to see Steve enjoying himself, and interacting with his family in such a positive way. It does warm, sludgy things to his insides.

 

He and Steve end up carrying Bobby and Izzy to the next few rows of houses, with Rebecca bringing up the rear to collect the candy. Bobby's delightfully mangled version of 'Trick or Treat' when the door opens sounds a lot closer to 'Tick'n Teat', and it never fails to make Steve snort in a severely unattractive manner.

 

Bucky still loves his ugly-snorts, anyway.

 

It's too much for Isobel, who falls asleep on the way back. Bucky puts her in the pram, followed by Robert. As much as he enjoys being carried by Steve, he'd rather spend some quality time cradling his candy like a dragon jealously guarding treasure.

 

Bucky takes the opportunity to slip his hand into Steve's as they walk back. Steve squeezes his fingers and swings their arms a little like the massive dork that he is.

 

It's on their way back that they actually run into a group of tiny grade-school kids dressed as the Avengers.

 

Bucky's fingers get squeezed again as Steve sees them, before he releases his hand, a huge grin on his face. According to a previous conversation, Steve's seen many kids dress up as the team since the Battle of New York, but it never gets old.

 

That's because kids are perennially adorable, and so is Steve.

 

Steve and Bucky stop in front of the group. He looks to their chaperone to check if it's okay to address the kids. The young woman they're with looks briefly from Steve and Bucky, to Becca and the kids. She must decide that they don't look too threatening, despite Steve's size, because she nods.

 

"You guys have amazing costumes," Steve enthuses sincerely, crouching in front of them, and he gets six toothy grins in return. There's a little Cap (of course), but also Iron Man, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Thor and even a Falcon. Steve looks to each one, before he frowns.

 

"Did you forget Hulk?" he asks.

 

"Billy's brother was gonna be Hulk," little Falcon answers, pointing to little Thor, "but he got strep throat and had to stay home." Everyone nods their heads sadly, and Bucky has to bite his lip.

 

"That's a shame," Bucky remarks, "but you all still look amazing. Ready to fight some bad guys?"

 

"Yeah!" Little Widow hollers, and does her own version of a karate chop. Steve can't smile any wider if he tried.

 

"I like your costume," little Cap tells Steve, and the irony threatens to kidney-punch Bucky.

 

"Thanks. I wanted to be Leonardo, but my, ah..." Steve gestures to Robert, in the pram, and stumbles. "My little friend, Bobby," he decides on carefully, "got to choose first."

 

"I like Leonardo best, too," little Cap replies, because if he likes Captain America, _of course_ Leonardo is his favourite turtle. "But Raphael is pretty cool, too."

 

"So I hear," Steve says, before he asks the group what their favourite turtles are. What follows is sixty seconds of six kids talking over one another as they explain exactly why x turtle is better than all the other turtles.

 

When they've exhausted themselves, Steve nods in a way that Bucky knows he barely picked up any of the conversation.

 

Their chaperone makes an aborted movement like she wants to keep moving with the kids, and both Bucky and Steve see it.

 

"It was so great to talk to you guys, and I know you've probably got to keep moving to get candy," Steve says, "but before you go, would it be okay if I took a photograph of you all? I just can't get over how cool your costumes are."

 

"We have to ask Juanita," little Hawkeye says dutifully, and six heads turn towards their chaperone.

 

Juanita nods, a faint smile on her face. "Yeah, it's okay." Little Widow lets out another ear-piercing whoop. Bucky can't help but think that she's got a bit to learn from the real Widow, because spying would become increasingly difficult if she kept giving away her position like that.

 

"You're all in green, you can be our Hulk!" Little Iron Man suddenly exclaims, and the kids begin chattering excitedly. Steve looks to Bucky immediately, the start of a pout forming on his lips. Bucky just mouths 'told you'.

 

"You need to do a Hulk pose," little Falcon says gravely, tugging on Steve's jeans to make him pay attention.

 

Steve thinks for a minute, before flexing his biceps. Even in a larger shirt, they stretch the cotton sleeves. The kids look suitably impressed. Bucky, Rebecca and Juanita are also impressed, but for entirely different reasons.

 

Steve hands Bucky his phone, and moves to tower behind the small group. Proportionately speaking, it seems just about right to the footage Bucky has seen of the team in action.

 

"Now do a nice, smiling one," Bucky says. Some of the kids keep their hero poses, but Steve drops his 'Hulk pose', and hunkers down a little more behind the kids.

 

Bucky gets a great idea. He forages for his own phone and passes it to Becca. His sister snaps away happily as Bucky sidles up to Steve.

 

It's amusing to note that Steve can read him well enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing?" he asks in an extremely low voice.

 

"Giving you something to laugh about later," Bucky replies. He turns to Becca. "Ready?"

 

"I'm always ready," she replies with a grin.

 

As she's taking the photo, Bucky whips Steve's beanie off and pulls his mask down for a few moments. Becca chortles as she takes a photo of Steve with his little band of Avengers, unmasked.

 

Before any of the kids can turn around, Bucky replaces the beanie, and Steve re-positions his mask. Bucky's about to vacate the photo when Steve tucks him in under his arm.

 

"Smile, handsome," he says, big grin levelled at Becca.

 

Bucky capitulates and smiles for Becca, before his eyes slide to Juanita, who's glancing at the clock on her phone. She's been completely nice to indulge them, but she might have to meet the kids' parents at a certain time, and they're holding her up.

 

"C'mon, _Raph_ ," Bucky says, tapping Steve's thigh, "I think the Avengers have to head off and fight evil somewhere."

 

Steve nods, and takes a moment to shake each kid's hand, before approaching Juanita and thanking her sincerely for letting him get a photo. She blushes and stumbles over her words a little, before corralling the kids into some semblance of order. Steve and Bucky spend a few moments waving as the six kids move away.

 

"That was pretty cute," Rebecca says, handing Bucky's phone back to him.

 

"I do my best," Bucky says, and gets a punch in the arm for his trouble. Once again, he regrets teaching his sisters to defend themselves. "Don't set a bad example for your kids. Bad parenting!" Bucky scolds, rubbing his arm.

 

"Just teaching them to take out anyone who mouths off at them."

 

"You should be talking to this guy, then," Bucky nods towards Steve.

 

"I resemble that remark," he says, offended.

 

The sheer depth of his indignance makes both Barnes siblings laugh. Becca puts a consoling arm around Steve's back. "Suck it up, Steve," she says sweetly.

 

Steve shakes his head. "You're both clearly related."

 

"Not so much. I begged my parents for a younger sibling, but the best they could do was a chimp from the Bronx Zoo."

 

Becca harrumphs. "Fine. _You_ no longer get to push your niece and nephew in the pram. Steve?" Steve jumps to attention, and takes the pram's handles dutifully. Becca links her arm in with his and they begin walking, leaving Bucky behind.

 

Bucky looks at them and grins. For all the world, they look like a happy little nuclear family, and Bucky's fifth-wheeling it. Only, he knows the truth.

 

Only one of them sees Steve naked, and it ain't his sister.

 

Bucky trails behind as he looks through his phone gallery, to some of the photos Becca took. They're really cute. The one of Steve unmasked, with the mini-vengers is particularly nice, but Bucky keeps getting drawn back to the one where he and Steve are grinning together. After a moment's consideration, he makes their stupid faces the wallpaper for his home screen, before pulling up Sam's number.

 

He definitely has some pretty fantastic images to share.

 

***

 

 

**_The One With The Instagram Post_ **

**_(Location: Bucky's office)_ **

 

 

Bucky's spelunking through a filing cabinet, amiably chatting to Vanessa, when his phone chimes. He's been ignoring the sound all day, only deeming to check it when it's one of the personalised tones for his family or Steve. He digs it out of his pocket to discover a text from one of his sisters.

 

_Abi: Check your email asap. I sent you something important xo_

Bucky cocks an eyebrow, because while Abigail tends towards dramatic, she doesn't usually go for cryptic.

 

He finishes finding the group of files he's looking for and goes back to his desk. The new addition to it stares cheerfully back at him, and Bucky has to stifle the grin he gets every single time he sees it.

 

Rebecca had been casually snapping photos while they went trick-or-treating on Monday night. A day or two later, she showed up at Bucky's apartment, claiming she'd been in the neighbourhood, to share a coffee and drop something off.

 

It turned out to be a small photo in a plain frame of him and Steve carrying her kids around. It had been taken from the back, and from a short distance away, so no faces or particularly defined identifying characteristics are visible, making it a perfect desk photo.

 

The silhouettes of Bucky and Steve are clear, with Bobby perched on Steve's shoulders pointing at paper chain decorations hanging from a tree, while Bucky rests Izzy on his hip, turned towards her. It's amazingly clear for a smartphone picture, and feels intimate while still preserving their privacy.

 

Bucky kind of adores it.

 

Tearing his eyes away from the photo, Bucky heads into his work email to find nothing there from Abi. He checks his junk mail, but knows that Abi's email address is in his contacts, and should never be forwarded there, anyway. A quick search reveals nothing recent, let alone sent today. It's enough to make him mildly anxious.

 

On a hunch, he logs into his personal email account instead, and there's her email. He leans on his elbow, face resting in his hand as he double-clicks to read it.

 

_Bucky,_

_Not sure if you've seen this yet, it started doing the rounds of the sites today as a minor puff piece. Nothing to worry about right this moment, I don't think, but if you want any thoughts on your next move, just call._

_Abi xo_

Attached to the email is a screen shot of an internet gossip article. The photo and headline cause Bucky's breath to catch in his throat.

 

**_CAPTAIN AMERICA FINDS NEW TEAM!_ **

****

_Everyone's favourite Avenger (not including Tony Stark) took to the streets of Brooklyn in an entirely new costume on Halloween, and ended up finding himself a brand new set of heroes!_

At the top of the article is a photo of an unmasked Steve hunkering down with the costumed kids. There's a Bucky-shaped blur in the background, who was of course behind him, having just pulled the beanie up and off. The inset is a generic headshot of Steve in his uniform.

 

Mother. Fucker.

 

At first, Bucky thinks maybe his or Becca's or Steve's phone has been hacked. But looking at the image more closely, the angle is off from the ones in his possession. It's definitely not been taken from the front, like his, but from the side.

 

It doesn't take much for Bucky to realise that's where the kids' chaperone, Juanita, was standing.

 

Jarrod walks past Bucky's desk and he smoothly clicks out of the email. Taking a moment or two to catch his breath, Bucky grabs his phone and heads to the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

 

He sits on the toilet seat and starts fiddling. Interestingly enough, all those chimes he'd been ignoring earlier, had been the Google alerts for 'Captain America' still in place on his device, notifying him of the articles beginning to pop up. There are alerts from at least four different gossip sites, but all of them have nearly identical content, not that that makes him feel any better. Bucky rolls his shoulders uncomfortably.

 

Bucky re-finds the original article on a garish pink Hollywood gossip blog, and clicks the 'read more' link.

 

_"I was doing my baby sister and her friends a favor," Juanita Ramirez, 23, said. "A nice man in costume stopped the kids and talked to them, we took some photos, and then they left. I didn't know who it was until I posted on Instagram. One of my friends said 'Holy shit, that's Captain America'."_

_Miss Ramirez didn't recognise him at the time, and the good Captain was only unmasked because one of his friends did it to get a picture, seemingly as a joke._

**_Related: Avengers Line Up For Ritzy Stark Halloween Benefit_ **

_It seems Cap ditched his famous team in favor of heading out with an unnamed family to get some quality trick-or-treating in._

_Only recently, Brooklyn's favorite son appeared in a Star Trek costume at a huge Halloween bash, honoring the recipients of the Howard and Maria Stark Foundation grant, where he got up close and personal with_ another _little Captain._

_On meeting Captain America unexpectedly, Miss Ramirez is remarkably circumspect. "It's New York, there's famous people everywhere. I just wished I'd realized it was him at the time. He and his friend were so nice to the kids, they made their night."_

_Captain Rogers couldn't be reached for comment._

Interspersed in the article are three other pictures: Steve in his 'Hulk pose' with the kids in question embedded from Juanita's Instagram account, a generic Avengers group publicity still, and a press photo from the Halloween party on the weekend, with Steve in deep discussion with Jacob and Selena.

 

Bucky breathes deeply and reads the article twice more before he calls Steve. Steve blessedly picks up quickly, and Bucky launches straight into reading the article aloud.

 

When Bucky's finished, Steve is quiet for a few moments. He then goes through the meat of the article, discarding the fluff.

 

"There's no mention of Becca or the kids, apart from the generic 'family' statement. As it is, it sounds like they've pegged you and Becca as a couple."

 

Bucky makes a slight noise of disgust, and Steve gives a gentle laugh. Bit of a gross thought, but preferable to the alternative.

 

"There's only a passing reference to you, as well," Steve adds, picking up on the tiny details. "I guess the story wasn't big enough to warrant any further investigation?"

 

"The article said you couldn't be reached for comment. Did someone ask?"

 

"Not that I know of," Steve answers. "If Pepper was notified, being that it's such a small story, she probably wouldn'tve bothered me with it."

 

Steve's logic makes sense, he's probably done this a hundred times. Also, any minor resentment he'd been holding towards Juanita is gone, too. He can't even blame her for posting the photo to social media, because all young people do.

 

"So the cat's not out of the bag just yet," Bucky breathes out.

 

"Babushka is safe," Steve says gently, and Bucky can hear the smile in his voice.

 

Bucky rests his elbows on his knees. "It's my fault," Bucky shakes his head regretfully. "Rookie fucking mistake. I thought it'd be funny for you to get a photo without your mask, and look what happened."

 

"Buck, it was an accident. Juanita didn't realise at the time, it took someone else to tell her. Whenever I go out, no matter what, there's no surefire guarantee that I'm not going to be recognised." Bucky can hear the shrug over the other end of the line. "I do what I can to prevent it, but I don't get mad when it happens."

 

"If I hadn't unmasked you, it probably _wouldn'tve_ happened, though," Bucky insists.

 

"And it was the most harmless puff piece I've read about myself in a while." Steve gives a rueful little chuckle. "It can always be worse. Three years ago I was seen at a Ramadan celebration, and some mouthy, orange guy with a toupee started asking for my birth certificate if I was going to call myself Captain America."

 

Bucky lets out a little laugh. Steve just seems to take everything in his stride, it's hard not to go along with the ride. If Steve's not worried, maybe Bucky shouldn't be, either. "He tends to do that," Bucky replies aloud, rubbing his eyes. It feels like there's grit under his lids and his eyeballs are all sandpapery. "I must've been overseas when he did this, though... what ended up happening?"

 

"Tony filed an immediate law suit citing harassment, saying something about being a _successful_ businessman as well as an actual genius, he could make the legal action stick." Steve gives a little, amused grunt. "Didn't hear anything more about it."

 

Bucky shakes his head disbelievingly. "Amazing." His smile fades, and he sighs deeply. "I knew it was going to happen, but I thought we'd have a bit more of a plan of attack in place beforehand."

 

"So maybe this is our wakeup call. We could meet with Pepper and her team; see if she can make any suggestions. Maybe... maybe getting that online presence, like Abigail talked about, would help us from getting caught off-guard, too."

 

"Mmm," Bucky grunts. "I could always call her, and she could give you the more detailed _Social Media: 101_ lecture."

 

"Yeah! That sounds great," Steve enthuses, "She could come over for coffee."

 

Bucky nods, not sure if Steve's more animated about talking to his sister, talking to his sister _about social media,_ or the coffee. "Okay. We'll discuss this before the week's out." He looks down at the article once again, finally able to see the funny side a little. "Hey, did you know you got hashtagged #BrooklynHottie?

 

"Is that even a thing?"

 

There's an impatient knock on the door. "Whassamatter, Bucky, did you fall in? I gotta gooo!" Jarrod sounds a little whiny, but also a little desperate.

 

"Nearly done!" Bucky addresses him, before speaking into the phone. "I gotta go. Thanks for calming me down. Write me later?" he asks fondly.

 

"It's what I do," Steve returns with unflappable composure.

 

***

 

**_The One With The Concessions To The Modern Era_ **

**_(Location: Bucky's apartment)_ **

 

 

Bucky digs in his messenger bag for his keys as the elevator doors open on his floor. He had an early mark from work, and had invited Abi around for the afternoon, but a last-minute job had kept him back for an extra half-hour. Driving home, Bucky hadn't even had a chance to text her and let her know he was going to be late.

 

Oddly enough, he hasn't received a chiming message from her asking where he is. Maybe she's running late, too. Bucky picks up his pace.

 

He walks briskly to his door and unlocks it, to find Abi already sitting on his sofa, next to Steve. He blinks once in surprise at the both of them, and throws his keys on the table by the door.

 

"I swear, it's not what it looks like," Abi says with a serene smile. Steve gives him a quirky grin and sips from his mug.

 

Bucky moves in to dump his messenger bag and run both hands through his hair. "Really? Because it looks like you're bogarting my new French vanilla coffee."

 

"Then it's _exactly_ what it looks like," Steve grins, and Abi gives him a high five. Bucky rolls his eyes and mouths 'save me' to the ceiling.

 

The ceiling remains silent.

 

"There's still some percolating, if you want a cup," Abi says.

 

"How generous you're being with my own coffee," he snarks back, but does just that, going into the kitchen and pouring a mug.

 

After a fortifying sip, Bucky wanders over to his boyfriend and sister. They look comfortable together. Abi has kicked her shoes off, curling her legs underneath her on the sofa. Steve has gotten changed out of whatever clothes he wore to Bucky's, and into a cozy -- but still decent -- pair of sweats and a relaxed cotton t-shirt. His lap is filled with a purring Babushka.

 

Bucky budges Steve over just slightly so he can sit on the arm of the sofa. Abigail's tablet and phone sit between them on the couch cushions, screens open on various social media apps.

 

"How long have you been here?" Bucky asks Abi after a fortifying mouthful of coffee.

 

"Twenty minutes, or so. I figured you were running late, and I'd left my set of your spare keys at my apartment, but then Steve showed up shortly after and rescued me from sitting in the hall, fielding glares of suspicion from the neighbours."

 

Bucky grins. It seems to be Abi's lot. Becca has a warm, no-nonsense young mom vibe, and Gracie does wholesome and doe-eyed like nobody's business, but Abigail... Abi is the trendy one, the modern one, always sharp like a razor, and therefore, _always_ first to be branded with the 'troublesome youth' mark by older people.

 

It amuses Bucky to no end.

 

He peers over Steve's shoulder, and glances at the tablet, before chucking his thumb towards it. "I think I missed the basics, so where are you up to now?"

 

Steve puts down his mug on the coffee table without disturbing Babushka and picks up Abigail's tablet. "Abi went over the reasons why people in the public eye choose to release information via social media, and was showing me some examples on the different... platforms? Did I get that right?" He looks to Abi for confirmation.

 

"That's exactly it," she assures. "We'd also started touching base on the pros and cons of some of the majors."

 

"Which ones are you leaning towards?" Bucky asks.

 

Abi takes her phone and brings up a list of the most popular social media platforms in the USA. "Based on this list, I've discussed what they're like, and showed the interfaces, and we've already ruled a few out, like Pinterest, Tumblr, LinkedIn. There are a few in the 'maybe in the future' category like Snapchat and Youtube, but by and large we're left with the big three."

 

"Let me guess," Bucky says, "Facebook, Twitter and Instagram."

 

"You got it, bro. Based on their interfaces, what it can do for you, and how it presents information--" she turns to Steve, "--I'd recommend one or all of these as a base."

 

"I think just one will be plenty," Steve says quickly, and Bucky and Abi both smile.

 

"That's probably really good to start out. But just keep in mind, if you're enjoying it, or if you want to slightly change your audience, you can change platform and it's a whole new ballgame."

 

Steve looks at the tablet and cycles through the three mentioned programs. "Can you give me the rundown on the three of them again?"

 

Abi puts her mug down on the coffee table. "How about you tell me exactly what you want, and how you'd like to interact with people, and we'll choose something from there?"

 

Steve is quiet for a moment, as he thinks. "I want something that I can control. I mean, I don't mind getting help, but you talked about how some of these big accounts have people that post for them... I don't want that."

 

"That's a good start," Abi encourages. "What else?"

 

"Something people aren't going to expect posts from every day... because I physically can't _do_ it. I want to be able to interact with people, but... on my own terms, I guess? Easy interface..."

 

"You should get something visual," Bucky puts in. "Remember the photos you used to send me before we met? Views from Manhattan, the park at dawn, drawings you were working on... they were so painfully hipster, the internet would eat that shit up with a spoon."

 

Abigail perks up. "You draw?"

 

Bucky hefts himself off the sofa arm to shuffle to the far wall and take a frame down. He returns to the seat, handing it to Abi. It's a collage of the studies Steve did of Babushka when he was laid up with his busted ankle.

 

Abi looks at the drawings like she's staring at the Mona Lisa. "Steve, these are wonderful. You do this often?"

 

"When I have the time," Steve shrugs modestly.

 

She taps the glass. "This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about at mom and dad's. For a lot of people, you're still this untouchable figure from history, barely human. Things like this, they make you relatable. You're already likable, this makes you even moreso." Steve looks down, abashed at the praise. Lord in Heaven, please save him from a blushing Steve Rogers.

 

Abi sits back in the couch cushions, looking thoughtful. "Based on what you've said, I thing Instagram might be the way to go. It's visually based, with the ability to use tags to look up subjects. You aren't required to actually say words if you don't want to; you could just put up a picture with no explanation, but the option is there to use text if you really want. You can even record up to a minute of video! People can interact with you and tag you in things, but it's not quite the free-for-all that Facebook or Twitter are. I mean, if someone tags you in something, it's not going to appear on your feed for your followers or anything, but you have the option to acknowledge it."

 

"That's true," Bucky says. "There's nothing more annoying than being tagged in stuff, and your friends or followers see it, when you really might prefer they didn't."

 

"Basically, on Instagram, if people choose to follow you, all they get to see are the things you put up, not all the posts other people will tag you in. And yes," she confirms, "a lot of people are going to tag you in things."

 

Steve looks down at the Instagram feed, scrolling through. "What kind of things would you suggest that I put up?" he asks presently.

 

Abigail shrugs. "It's entirely up to you. To put what's just happened into perspective for you, if I were you, and I'd had a cute photo taken with a bunch of kids dressed as me and my colleagues? Forget the media being the first one to tell the story, _I_ would. _I'd_ upload the photo and say what I wanted about it. Whether it's just a comment on the great costumes, or maybe something a bit deeper about how it makes you feel when you see kids dressed up as you guys, I'd make sure _my_ narrative is the one that's always first attached to the story, not somebody else's. I'd realise that it would make the rounds for the gossip sites, or Facebook or Twitter, but it would make those rounds with _my_ words attached first.

 

"You may, however, want to have a discussion with your PR reps -- Stark's, I assume? -- to see if they have any particular untouchable subjects."

 

"I'm sure there are a few," Steve says, before a wry smile curves his lips, "and then, I'm sure there are a few things that I'd want to say regardless."

 

Bucky bites his lip and shakes his head. Maybe the public will finally start realising Captain America is really a sarcastic shit-stirrer called Steve Rogers. They will if he keeps this up, at any rate.

 

Abi grins. "I like him," she says to Bucky, and Bucky merely high fives her as an answer. She turns back to Steve. "If that's the way you want to go, I've got a few suggestions to make.

 

"Firstly, turn off location services in the app, so it'll never record and post exactly where you are. I know you're not about to take selfies and post while you're out working somewhere, but just in general, you probably don't want people to know where you are. You can also choose to delay the posting, so the location information isn't relevant at the time of the upload.

 

"Secondly, get the little blue check mark."

 

"What's the blue check mark?" Steve is mystified.

 

"The blue check mark on any of these platforms means that _you_ are actually Steve Rogers. People in the public eye can be verified, so you know that the person posting is exactly who they say they are, and it's not someone impersonating you."

 

"How do you get one of those?" he asks curiously.

 

"If you ask Ms Potts, she would definitely be able to get the process sorted, it's much better coming from a corporation. And I'm sure she'd have some clout in that area.

 

"And thirdly--"

 

"Don't feed the trolls," Bucky cuts in.

 

"I was going to say that!" Abi pouts.

 

Steve looks to Bucky, raising his eyebrows. Bucky sighs and motions with his hand. "Budge over," he says, and Steve shuffles, letting Bucky slide between him and the arm of the sofa. Babushka opens her eye and glares at him, for deigning to make her comfy human pillow move.

 

Bucky lets out a long breath. "The world is full of great people, but it's also equally populated with assholes, the majority of which have internet access. You're gonna get lovely people who are huge fans contact you, and you're gonna get a slew of abusive hatemongers who either really believe the shit they're spouting, or are just saying it to get a rise out of you, because that's how they get their jollies.

 

"All they want to do is have you nibble, so they can bite back. So don't give them the satisfaction."

 

Bucky waits patiently as Steve looks particularly torn at the prospect of not taking down bullies a few pegs. "What if I want to anyway? What if they're picking on someone? I should step in if I can," he says, and this is just the kind of guy his boyfriend is.

 

"If I can help," Abi cuts in, and they both turn to look at her. "In my opinion, one, it's physically impossible to respond to every single crappy message out there -- Steve, don't take that as a challenge -- and two, it's _definitely_ only worth doing if you can remain cool and be pithy about it."

 

Bucky nods vigorously. "Absolutely. If you get angry and the media picks up on it, all they'll talk about is how 'Captain America was baited by a troll'. It's never a good look, and those guys always come back. But if you keep calm and destroy them with wit, they end up getting shamed out and deleting their accounts."

 

"He's right," Abigail confirms. "If you want examples of amazing comebacks to trolls, check out J. K. Rowling or Patton Oswalt's Twitter accounts, or even food chains Dennys and Wendy's; they're brilliant."

 

Bucky drops his hand to the back of Steve's neck and starts playing with the short hairs there, and Steve leans into his touch.

 

"We should probably make mention of a third category of people, too," Abi says, her face screwing up. "You'll have the genuine fans, and the haters, but you'll also have the girls and guys who are... maybe a little obsessed with you?"

 

Steve arches an eyebrow. "I think I know where you're going with this," he intones in a heavy voice.

 

"Yeah. They're the ones that'll post about how they want to sleep with you, or tag you in sexually explicit material... it's not always as bad as that, they can just continually tag or write messages in an effort to get your attention. Sadly, the attention usually doesn't make them settle down, it amps them up further."

 

Bucky cringes. From Steve's tone, he's definitely encountered this before. He's not sure how he'd feel people did the same thing to him. Probably exceedingly awkward.

 

"The thing of it is, Steve," Abi explains, "is that the relative anonymity of social media means some people say things that they just would never say to your face, because they don't have to face embarrassing or inappropriate repercussions. In my opinion, it's probably just best to leave those sorts of comments alone. Responding would set a precedent, and that's not great. Best to let sleeping dogs lie."

 

Steve looks thoughtful for a while. "So your advice is, take the time to reply to some nice comments, ignore the more... creative comments, and only respond to the bad ones if I can destroy them with my witty repartee?"

 

Abi beams a smile, and Bucky can see himself in her grin. "You are a fast learner! And I'm happy to help if you ever need it," she offers, "this is what I do, and I'm very good at it. Ms Potts probably has a whole PR team that have the interests and good image of the Avengers at their forefront... but you're my brother's boyfriend. If you want to talk to someone who has _your_ interests and good image only at the forefront, I'm available."

 

Bucky can't help but smile, because Abi is the gregarious, likable Barnes. She's got a smile for everyone she meets, but only time for a select few, and family always makes the cut.

 

She's treating Steve like family. Bucky suddenly finds it hard to swallow.

 

Not knowing Abi like Bucky does, Steve doesn't really understand the magnitude of what he's being offered, but seems touched nonetheless. "That's... very kind of you, Abi. I'll have a think about it, and a chat to Pepper about getting verified and whatnot, and go from there." Steve looks quickly at Bucky, before addressing Abigail once again. "If it's permissible, may I have your phone number? I can text you when I have a solid decision."

 

Bucky presses his lips together as he sees Abi try desperately hard to keep her cool because _Captain America_ wants her number. She does it, though, because she makes eye contact with Bucky and realises he's silently laughing at her.

 

Steve notices the pause and the looks between Bucky and his sister, and raises an eyebrow. "I can communicate with you through Bucky if you'd both prefer...?" He hedges.

 

"No! No, it's fine. Bucky's just being an asshole," Abi says, passing Steve her phone. He enters his number, and she immediately sends a test text, Steve's phone making a little 'ping' from where it sits on the kitchen counter. Steve gives her a thumbs up.

 

"Besides," Abi grins, "if we have each other's numbers, we can talk about Bucky whenever we want." Steve perks up immediately, with a large smile.

 

Suddenly his sister having Steve's number isn't quite so funny. Bucky's face must alert everyone to this fact, because Abi and Steve both start laughing.

 

"All right, all right, yuck it up, you mooks. All I've ever done is support the both of you."

 

"Like a bra," Abi says solemnly, before they both dissolve into mirth again.

 

Bucky picks up Babushka and moves towards the kitchen. "I don't know why I even bother, sometimes, Bushka, they're so mean to me." Babushka has no answer, save to meow.

 

Abigail stays for a while longer, chatting happily with Steve. They share another cup of coffee before Abi gets up with a sigh.

 

"As much fun as this has been, I should get going."

 

Bucky loves his sister well and truly, but after a long day at work, he would enjoy some private time with Steve now.

 

Abi slips her feet into her shoes, and gathers her things. Steve stands as well, and opens his arms to her. "Thank you so much for your time, Abi," he says sincerely, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. Abi can't help but smile.

 

"It's honestly my pleasure. Let me know what Ms Potts says, and we can have another chat."

 

Steve flicks her a lazy salute, and Bucky walks her to the door, opening it for her.

 

Abi moves to kiss Bucky on the cheek. "Bye, Buck-Buck," she murmurs into his ear. "You keep that one."

 

Bucky's lips twitch in response. "You've discerned my heinous plan."

 

He and Abi share a few final words before she takes her leave, Bucky shutting the door behind him. He leans one shoulder against the now-closed door and dramatically wipes his forehead. "Thought she'd _never_ leave."

 

Steve kicks back on the sofa a little more, putting his legs up. "Don't be an ass, she is awesome and helpful."

 

Bucky wanders back to the sofa and sits with his legs straddling Steve's thighs near his knees. "Helpfully cock-blocking her brother," Bucky grumbles, resting his hands on Steve's broad chest, which rumbles with laughter.

 

Steve stretches up to take Bucky's lips with his own sweetly, hands going straight into Bucky's hair. Letting out a little groan, Bucky skates his hands down to tug at the waistband of Steve's sweats.

 

Steve shifts a little to accommodate the movement, allowing Bucky to dip his fingers beneath the elastic and hit bare skin. He rears back for a second.

 

"Wait, you weren't wearing anything under your sweats this whole time? _How_ did I not realise this?" Bucky asks, mystified.

 

"Probably because you were too busy talking to your sister to realise I was going..."

 

And Bucky gets it... He's already trying to put his other hand over Steve's mouth.

 

"... _Commando_." Steve's voice is muffled behind Bucky's palm.

 

"Dear sweet baby Jesus," Bucky moans, putting his forehead against Steve's chest, while his boyfriend laughs. "This isn't funny! Bad puns kill boners, it's a scientific fact."

 

"Pretty sure they don't," Steve says with a reasonably confident air.

 

Bucky lifts his head up and scrutinises Steve very carefully.

 

The solution comes to him as a bolt out of the blue. "You couldn't find your underwear again, could you?"

 

"I have _no_ idea where they are," Steve shrugs sadly. "Maybe I can borrow yours?"

 

Bucky smiles, and runs his lips across the sharp angle of Steve's jaw. "Go ahead; don't think I'll be needing mine for much longer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Halloween is way bigger now than it was when Steve was a kid. He's pretty fascinated. 
> 
> * Becca was long-suffering Donatello. 
> 
> * Bucky kept telling Becca she should've dressed Izzy as April o'neil, and Becca's just mad she didn't think of it first. She creates excuses as to why there are 4 ninja turtles and a tiny skeleton baby.
> 
> * spent way longer than i should've picking which characters shoud be which turtles.
> 
> * Steve + Becca bonding 4eva
> 
> * Steve's starting to think ahead a lot. He's not short-term planning his situation; he's thinking about things that will make it easier for him and Bucky to function with the media further into the future. (Abi is on this page, too)
> 
> * While Bucky is a future-planner, his concerns are a lot more immediate, and that is trying to keep his personal life from interfering with his work or family (which would invariably happen once people start connecting the dots). 
> 
> * Steve made The Desk in a photo! Important stuff :3
> 
> * I based the article loosely on something you might find on Perez Hilton's blog, or some other such site. 
> 
> * Steve knows how to deal with this article, because it ain't his first rodeo. He does a really great job of calming Bucky down. 
> 
> * sorrynotsorry for the ubiquitous Trump reference. Because he's a fuckwit and I love the idea that while this dick screams 'i'll sue' at the slightest provocation, an actual Stark law suit is enough to shut him up, because hey, actual SUCCESSFUL businessman. Bite his shiny arc reactor, asshole. 
> 
> * Abi is definitely the most socially-adept Barnes, more than anyone else (apart from Bucky), she has the most potential to draw Steve out of his little privacy bubble. 
> 
> * This may just be the start of Steve getting online. We'll see what Pepper says!
> 
> * Steve gave Bucky his character studies of Babushka. Bucky carefully cut out the individual pieces and arranged them in a frame. 
> 
> * I'm no social media guru, but i definitely tried to sound like one. I hope it came across ok. Also with the descriptions of the kinds of people Steve will encounter. I think he's already encountered each type in RL, this will be the digital version of that. I think Abi's strategy is pretty sound? So we'll see how that pans out! 
> 
> * I ended up going with Instagram over Twitter on this after many a debate with Sarah. Because having him have Twitter was EXCEEDINGLY tempting. Sarah equated it to the way that Chris and Seb both have and use each different platform. Chris seems a bit more outspoken and happy to express his opinions in words, and even debate with people who want to be asshats. Seb's instagram is sporadic, sometimes a bit abstract, tongue in cheek. He doesn't get too political, and he gives little insights into himself and his personality without doing the full reveal. You get little peeps, but he still retains his privacy.  
> And ultimately, this is what I wanted for Steve. Steve doesn't want to share all of his insides on the outside, but he's willing to consider that a little something is better than nothing, and have the media completely fill in the blanks. 
> 
> * I'm also pretty sure there'll be some points where he'll get into trouble from Stark/Avengers PR for stuff he does say, if he decides to take on the bullies. Because you know he is. 
> 
> * Steve's dad joke is terrible. It's bad and he should feel bad. 
> 
> That's all I can think of. Thank you again, guys. Remember, i'm on tumblr as fannishflightsoffancy.tumblr.com


	16. Dating (week 15)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With Bucky's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could apologise for this one taking so long to get out, but I think once you read it, you'll understand exactly why it took so long. This chapter has been a real push, and I can't thank Sarah enough for her time and dedication in going through this with me with a fine tooth-comb.
> 
> In this chapter, I also must acknowledge the help of my friend, Josh, who spent probably about five hours total in face-to-face conversations with me, discussing PTSD, triggering, and what it's like experiencing an episode. Thank you, Josh, your honesty and trust talking to me about this is greatly appreciated, as was you lending your eyes to give this a proof for accuracy. 
> 
> And with Josh's input, and the fact that when he read over it, he found himself becoming affected, this chapter comes with a pretty damn big trigger warning. Because I don't want anyone reading to suffer from any kind of distress.
> 
> If you're prone to being affected by reading about people suffering PTSD, please be warned this might be a difficult read. I have summarised the chapter in the end notes if you want a summary, or if you'd like to read up until the point Bucky begins to suffer, read until the point where he arrives home at his apartment.
> 
> If you had the time to let me know what you thought in a comment, man, you'd be a legend!

**_The One With Bucky's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day_ **

****

**_Location: Main Street Park, DUMBO_ **

_Dumbo Boulders_ , the man-made rock-climbing under the Manhattan bridge, is pretty busy for Veterans' day. Bucky watches his half a dozen charges, arms folded across his chest.

 

It's a brisk sixty-six degrees, requiring a light jacket, but other than that, the day is beautiful. He can see clear into Manhattan, blue skies and barely any clouds.

 

This is the second year he's taken a small group of kids out for an activity on the holiday. Being Veterans' Day, his group mainly consists of some of the outreach's kids from military families. It serves a dual purpose. On the one hand, it gives the families with returned servicemen the ability to go out and meet with their comrades, or spend the day in quiet reflection without having to worry about their children. On the other hand, it gives kids whose parents didn't return from conflict something to do on the day without dwelling too greatly on their situation.

 

And if it also helps Bucky do the latter, well that's just a side benefit. Bucky smiles to himself, looking for his charges on the climbing walls.

 

He has three of the same kids from last year, as well as two new ones. And then there's Tyler, who is taking his job as Bucky's helper extremely seriously. Other counsellors might have a second adult helping them wrangle, but in this instance, Bucky's fine with Tyler. He's proving to be a great XO who takes instruction well, and has a strong sense of empathy for children younger than himself.

 

The big surprise package in this group is Jacob, who had expressed an interest in coming along. Bucky's not sure if his involvement in choosing Jacob to meet the Avengers has played a part in this, or it's his burgeoning friendship with Tyler -- whom he looks up to. Either way, Jacob is here, and not giving Bucky complete attitude, so that's something.

 

It's nice to have non-combative eye contact with the boy, and have whole exchanges that aren't him being deliberately inflammatory. He's noticing that Jacob is taking a lot of his behavioural cues from Tyler, and Tyler happens to think Bucky's pretty awesome. Bucky doesn't need to be Jacob's favourite person, but maybe he's on the way to not bearing the brunt of all the kid's ill-feelings towards the military.

 

That'd be something he'd consider a fair improvement on the past.

 

"Bucky, I made it to the top!" a shrill voice cries out, and Bucky is shaken out of his musings. Georgia waves at him, long blond hair streaming behind her as she clings to the hand and foot holds.

 

"Good job, Georgia!" he claps, smiling at her.

 

So, six kids, rock climbing in a picturesque location. He's had worse Veterans' days. It's just a shame Steve couldn't join.

 

He'd floated the idea a few days ago when it came up, as Steve's first outing with the outreach. Steve was enthusiastic, but his plans for Veterans' day had been locked in months ago, and it was just too late to pull out. He had already agreed to spend time at two VA facilities, first at the Manhattan Vet Centre, followed by the New York State Division of Veterans' Affairs, both in lower Manhattan.

 

Steve seemed genuinely disappointed he couldn't renege on his obligations, and resolved to make sure he was available next year with such sweet sincerity, Bucky felt mildly diabetic.

 

They have plans to catch up together later, though, so Bucky's definitely looking forward to the pizza and lounging about in underpants, which has been promised.

 

A faint screech of brakes and a familiar metal-on-metal crunching sound diverts Bucky's attention, followed by a number of blaring car horns. He looks up at the bridge and winces in sympathy. There's nothing worse than having a car accident on a holiday, it's fucking impossible to get a tow truck and find an open garage.

 

"You got the short straw looking after all the kids today?" One of the Dumbo Boulders employees sidles up to Bucky, drawing his attention away from the bridge.

 

Bucky grins. "Not the short straw. Just having some fun with some kids who need it," he replies.

 

"You a social worker, or something?" The guy asks, squinting. He's pretty ripped, biceps threatening to bust out of his uniform shirt, but Bucky supposes he has to be strong to be one of the climbing instructors. His nametag says 'Brad'.

 

Bucky gives a tiny smirk. "Something like that." He's not in the habit of telling complete strangers what he does for a living.

 

A few faint 'pops' sound over the natural ambient sounds of the city, and Bucky looks from the young guy out towards the bridge and the East River again. He can't tell what made the noises, nor exactly where they emanate from, and frowns.

 

"I'm Brad," the employee says unnecessarily cheerfully, holding out his hand and drawing Bucky's attention back. Once he has Bucky's gaze, he furnishes the brunet with a very appraising once-over.

 

Bucky glances back towards the river before turning to Brad, weighing up how rude it would be to not shake it. "James," Bucky offers eventually, reaching out but only shaking firmly once before releasing Brad's hand and turning back to the kids.

 

"James... that's a great name." Brad gives him a winning smile. "You from Brooklyn, James?"

 

Bucky sighs and wants to pinch the bridge of his nose. It's been a while since he got hit on this lousily. He at least gives points for originality, even if he's not on the market, and Brad just doesn't pass muster. In all honesty, he's just not in the mood to give this guy the time of day before the polite brush-off. Bucky slips his hand into his pocket and fingers the edge of his phone, willing to fake a telephone call to get out of the conversation.

 

"Bucky, I need help!" Georgia cries out from the wall, and Bucky's ears prick up immediately, saying a silent prayer to his littlest charge.

 

"Sorry, Brad, duty calls," Bucky apologises, leaving Brad looking puzzled. He quickly moves beneath Georgia, who has been refusing help from the other employees, and helps lower her down. Georgia can be funny like that; not wanting others to touch her, even if they're non-threatening and trying to help. Thankfully, she doesn't have that issue with Bucky.

 

Bucky sets her on the ground carefully. "You okay now, GG?"

 

"Yuhuh," Georgia mutters. "That one's too high."

 

Kneeling down in front of her, Bucky shrugs, pointing to another climbing wall. "That's okay. There are shorter walls over there, if you want to try that instead? Or you can have a break with me and watch for a bit."

 

Georgia opens her mouth to answer, when there's a further series of pops. Similar to the first noise Bucky heard, but now more frequent, and louder, which means closer. He instinctively inclines his body towards hers.

 

Bucky looks back to the bridge, where a thin plume of black smoke spoils the perfect line of blue sky.

 

It's potentially still fall-out from the traffic accident he heard, but that's the rational part of his mind trying to explain away something that is beginning to make his gut instinct for flight stir.

 

"Bucky, what's that noise?" Georgia pulls on his jeansclad leg.

 

"I don't know, honey," he says calmly, even though every single strand of hair on the back of his neck now stands up. More pops, this time accompanied by a faint sound of human exclamation. Bucky flicks his gaze back to the bridge, before kneeling in front of Georgia, placing both hands on her shoulders. "Hey, do me a favour? Go get Cynthia and Lani, and grab your coats from the lockers, I think it's time for me to take you guys for some ice cream."

 

Georgia lights up, and Bucky gives her a reassuring smile, which drops as soon as she scampers off. He stands and dusts his knees, looking to the bridge.

 

More plumes of smoke rise from the structure, this time further towards the middle. The noise and the smoke have drawn the attention of a number of the climbers and surrounding pedestrians, who have paused to see what's going on. A few have taken out phones to take pictures or film the smoke.

 

Something itches at the base of Bucky's spine. He didn't stay alive in places where people were trying to blow him and his team up by ignoring the impulse.

 

Bucky approaches the wall where he can see Tyler, Ramone and Jacob arguing the best way to grip the hand holds, while when he hears a sound that turns his gut to ice.

 

Automatic gunfire.

 

Bucky walks to the wall immediately, not running to cause panic. "Kids, we have to go. Right now." His tone is nothing like he normally uses with the kids; it's not joking, it's not his counsellor voice, it's purely authoritative.

 

It's 'follow orders, explain later'.

 

There's more gunfire from the bridge, and the boys freeze. Bucky reaches up and helps pull them down to the ground and unclipping their carabiners and safety ropes. He sees the Dumbo Boulders staff doing similar things for other climbers, getting them out of their safety climbing equipment as quick as possible.

 

"Bucky, what's happening?" Tyler asks, eyes wide. People around them are starting to make loud exclamations, a few have started to run.

 

"I don't know," Bucky says truthfully. "But I think we should move to somewhere safer.

 

"Where's Lani?" Ramone asks of his sister, suddenly stricken.

 

"Lani, Cynthia and Georgia are grabbing their coats. We're going to collect them, and head back towards Brooklyn, down Plymouth St, okay?" Bucky is practiced at keeping a calm voice. Inside, his heart is doing double-time, brain is calculating exits and gauging shelter.

 

Jacob jumps as there's another barrage of gunfire. People on the bridge are screaming. Two more plumes of smoke join the first. It's enough to start the patrons of the Boulders fleeing the area.

 

Someone running past in a hasty exit knocks Ramone off his feet, and he hits the ground hard. Panic is setting in and the adults are starting to act erratically.

 

"Jerk!" Bucky calls out, before crouching with Ramone, who winces in pain. "You okay, buddy? Can you stand?"

 

"My ankle hurts," he says, and Christ, this is all Bucky needs.

 

"That's okay. I'll pick you up, all right?" Ramone nods and Bucky hauls him on his back as quickly as he can. "Tyler, you take Jacob's hand. You don't let go for any reason, okay?"

 

Tyler nods, lips set in a grim line. He looks alarmed, but determined to follow Bucky's instructions. Jacob is gripping Tyler's hand so hard it's white.

 

"We need to get Lani," Ramone says, lower lip quivering. Bucky thinks it's part fear, and part pain from his ankle.

 

"Right," Bucky confirms. "If the girls are smart, they've stayed at the lockers. Tyler and Jacob, you go ahead, I'm going to be right behind you."

 

Tyler sets off at a jog, pulling Jacob alongside. Bucky follows behind, Ramone clinging to his neck and using his knees to grip as tightly as he can. They make their way through the fleeing people back to the lockers.

 

Sure enough, Lani is there, with her arms around Cynthia and Georgia. Georgia spots Bucky first and makes to run out, but Lani wisely holds her back. Her eyes are trained immediately on her brother, worry clouding her eyes.

 

"Good job, Lani," Bucky praises as soon as he gets there. Georgia latches onto Bucky's leg like a limpet.

 

"What's wrong with Ramone?" Lani asks immediately.

 

"My ankle hurts," he tells her miserably.

 

"What's happening, Bucky?" Cynthia asks, dark eyes wide, and that is the start of all the kids beginning to talk over one another.

 

Bucky hushes them with a finger over his lips. He puts Ramone down for a moment and crouches in front of the group, looking each one of them in the eye.

 

"I don't know what's going on, but what I _do_ know is that we need to get somewhere safer. To do that, we're going to have to help each other, stay together, and do exactly what I say. Can you do that?"

 

Everybody nods quickly, solemnly, and Bucky knows he has their undivided attention. "We're going to buddy up. Tyler and Jacob, Lani and Georgia, me with Ramone and Cynthia."

 

"But--" Lani starts, gesturing to her brother.

 

"I know you want to look after him, Lani, but for speed I need to carry him. I'm counting on you to look after Georgia." He gestures to the smallest child in the group. "If you do that, you can count on me to take care of Ramone."

 

Lani nods jerkily. Bucky exhales sharply, and casts his eye around. "We need to leave, but we need cover." He points to the street that borders Main Street Park. "We head west along Plymouth. There are cars parked along the street. Stay close, get low. Whatever you do, keep your head down." He turns back to the kids. "If for any reason we get separated, don't lose your buddy. Find shelter, I will find you."

 

Bucky looks over them again. There's obvious fear and worry there, but these kids in particular are as resilient as they come. He has to place trust in them to follow directions, there's no other option. "Ready?"

 

With six nods, Bucky turns to Ramone. "Climb on my back and hold on, okay?" Ramone clambers up, locking his arms around Bucky's shoulders, legs around his waist. Although he's a bit out of practice, Ramone still weighs less than his military pack used to, so it's not that hard. Cynthia takes a hold of Bucky's hand, and they begin moving.

 

There are horns blaring, people yelling and screaming, and the gunfire becomes more intermittent, and unfortunately, closer. This is why they need to _move._

 

Plymouth becomes like a parking lot, with people leaving their cars and jumping out. Bucky is looking for vantage points, trying to always keep them obscured from anyone with a high-powered weapon on the bridge. It's easier said than done, but the kids are keeping up well, and Bucky's as pleased with their progress and their cohesion as a team as he can be under the circumstances.

 

They get half a block from Main St, before Bucky stops. The kids bank up behind him, and they look ahead. In some people's apparent haste to get out of the danger zone, there's been a multi-vehicle accident in the middle of the road, blocking a lot of the street. Someone's fuel tank has caught fire and the flames are licking out.

 

Even from further away, the heat prickles Bucky's skin. In the distance, he can hear the sirens of fire trucks.

 

"What now?" Tyler asks, looking to Bucky hopefully.

 

Bucky wipes the perspiration from his upper lip. "We double back. Go through the buildings if it's safe, if we can't, down Washington to head south."

 

Bucky's mind is working at a mile a minute. It's a shame they can't keep continuing west from Plymouth, but if they can go south on Washington, then back west on Water, they can avoid the majority of the fleeing public and any other potential blocks.

 

His phone chimes softly in his pocket, and Bucky itches to check it; to look up if there's information on subway closures, or police movements, safe zones... but he can't do that until it's safe to stop for some cover. He can't afford to be distracted. Not only are there hostiles in the area, but there's always the chance of his kids getting lost or hurt due to the erratic nature of panic-stricken adults. He already has one minor injury to deal with, they can't afford any others.

 

The familiar thud-thud-thud of chopper blades goes overhead, and Bucky has to remember he's not in sand. He looks up, blinking into the sun. The camera crews are assembling, no doubt beaming footage of whatever the hell is going on at the bridge into news rooms everywhere.

 

The thought occurs that they're heading towards Brooklyn Heights, and towards Steve's apartment.

 

If there is absolutely nowhere else to go, and he needs somewhere safe to get the kids, he would take them there; Bucky knows Steve wouldn't object. But priority should be getting them back to their parents, who are probably already seeing footage and freaking out.

 

The kids are panting, but keeping up. Lani and Tyler are doing an amazing job of looking after their charges. He can hear quiet words of encouragement and motivation, and he's so fucking grateful they are paying attention to him and not questioning his zig-zagging movements through the streets and between buildings.

 

Ramone still has an iron grip around his waist and shoulders, Cynthia is squeezing his hand as tightly as she possibly can. Her shoelace comes undone, and she nearly trips, but Bucky is able to scoop her up into his arms. He knows where Lani and Georgia, and Tyler and Jacob are based on their shadows on the pavement as they move.

 

Up ahead there is a bank of red and blue flashing lights; a police blockade. Bucky can see uniformed officers, weapons drawn, encouraging people to get behind their cars. If they can just get behind them, it's likely that the area behind the cops is clear.

 

The police are still a good block away. However, instead of getting further away, the gunfire seems to be getting closer. Bucky grimaces.

 

If the gunfire is getting closer, the police might represent a target for the hostiles, rather than safety for them.

 

Bucky pulls the kids to the side, behind a row of abandoned vehicles, next to a large, white van. He sets Cynthia down gingerly, arms burning a little from the strain. Running isn't conducive to asking questions, but now that they've stopped, six pairs of eyes burn into his skull.

 

"Bucky, what do we do now?" Tyler asks urgently, desperate for instruction. Bucky opens his mouth to answer, when some windows from a building on the other side of the street get shot out.

 

Reaching for the handle of the van to pull himself up, he finds the door slides open. Bucky blinks in surprise, but doesn't wish to look a gift horse in the mouth. He spends a precious three seconds looking inside the van for danger, finding none before snapping his gaze to the kids, wrenching the door open wider. "Get in," he orders abruptly, gratified that there is no argument, just children scrambling inside.

 

It seems to be a van from a produce truck, with wax-covered cardboard boxes. The kids huddle together and look to Bucky, who holds one finger against his lips, motioning for them to get down as far as they can.

 

He cocks his head to the side, listening for more gunfire. After a few moments, when the staccato fire has died off, Bucky peers over the passenger seat, out the front windshield. Visibility isn't great. He can't see any hostiles, but without knowing the area for certain is clear, they're not leaving that van.

 

Bucky digs his phone out of his pocket. The alerts that had kept chiming while they were on the run were his google alerts for Captain America; reports of armed men in multiple vehicles on the Manhattan bridge were enough to get the Avengers involved. First reports were that Steve got on the scene fairly quickly. Bucky's not surprised, seeing as he would've been physically close to any disturbances.

 

Flipping out of the news apps, Bucky immediately tries to call Denise. It starts ringing, but halfway through the third ring, his phone cuts out. Bucky curses softly and pokes at the screen. His signal's dropped out, emergency calls only. And there's definitely no point in calling 911; the police clearly already know something's going down, and he'll only be clogging the line when the operator is not going to be able to render any assistance whatsoever. Calling Steve -- even if he could -- seems needlessly dangerous; he'd be too busy to answer, and trying might jeopardise his safety.

 

It's up to Bucky to get the kids somewhere safe.

 

As if to remind him of his purpose, a small hand makes its way onto his knee, shaking him out of his clinical planning. Georgia. He looks down to her, forcing a smile onto his face, lowering his phone. "You okay, honey?"

 

"I'm scared," she says in a small voice.

 

Bucky exhales. It's not like working with a heavily-armed team. It's just him, with no weapons, no body armour, no backup, and six kids under the age of fifteen, one with a sprained ankle.

 

"It's going to be okay." He looks to all of the kids. " _Everything_ is going to be okay. There's a police barricade down the street, maybe a hundred yards away. We wait until the coast is clear, and we make our way to the police. Anywhere behind them will be safe." He points towards the back of the van. "We get past them, we take whatever transport we can -- bus, train, taxi, hell, I'd be happy with a clown car -- and we get back down to the outreach and back to your parents."

 

He's met with six solemn nods. If he has to be in this god-awful situation with any kids, he's glad it's these ones. They take matters such as this with more seriousness than most. Even Jacob, who doesn't gel with him very much, is laser-focused on Bucky and nodding.

 

"Right," Bucky says to himself. He looks to his phone, willing the signal to pick up again. If he can just even get out a call or a text to Denise, let her know they're currently safe and accounted for... no doubt all the childrens' parents will be beside themselves right now.

 

He skims the reports that had loaded before he lost service. Armed men, bridge, engaged by Captain America and Avengers. Bucky knows Steve probably has his shield with him, but with the high-powered weapons involved, he hopes Steve's in full Cap gear. Stark has been working on making their uniforms more resistant to bullets, though he's not sure -- short of wearing a metal suit like the man in question -- how much protection Steve's new Kevlar can offer against high-powered rounds.

 

Regrettably, Bucky only knows Steve was meant to be there, not how formal the events were.

 

But Captain Amer-- _Steve --_ and the Avengers can look after themselves. Bucky doesn't have capacity to worry about them, only about fighting the low-level buzz in the back of his skull and getting his kids out of there in one piece.

 

Lani opens her mouth to ask a question but there's a noise from outside, and Bucky hushes her immediately. Footsteps are close by, heavy and booted. He can hear voices through the glass and metal, but what they're saying is muffled. It could be the police, it could be the hostiles.

 

The voices are right outside the van. He looks to Georgia, who is biting her little bottom lip so hard it's turning white. Bucky takes her hand and squeezes her fingers reassuringly.

 

Everything's silent, and the voices are perhaps starting to move away when Bucky's phone makes an obnoxious chime. He looks down at it in surprise. The signal had briefly stuttered to life, and in that instant it downloaded a text from Dee.

 

 _Pleasepleaseplease_ Bucky thinks, hoping whoever's on the street doesn't care enough to check it out.

 

He's not that lucky.

 

The voices come closer once again, raised so he can make out the words. "Whoever's in the van better come out now," a harsh voice announces.

 

Cynthia lets out a shallow gasp, and Bucky shakes his head, motioning for silence.

 

They don't answer, but the voices don't move away.

 

"There's nothing there," a different voice says.

 

"I heard something," a third insists.

 

There's a pause, and Bucky prays that the sound is ignored, written off as an abandoned device.

 

"If anyone's in the white van, you have until I count to five to come out, or I'm gonna spray the back with bullets. One."

 

Bucky looks to the kids, sees the whites of their eyes.

 

"Two."

 

It could be a bluff, but Bucky can't take that chance, he _can't._

 

"Three."

 

Bucky reaches for the handle, and Tyler starts shaking his head. Patting his hand, Bucky opens his mouth.

 

"I'm coming out, I'm unarmed," he watches the kids as he announces his intentions, gesturing them to silenty move further into the van. Bucky pauses between unlocking the door, and squeezing the handle.

 

"Bucky, _no_ ," Lani entreaties softly, even as she shuffles back further.

 

"Remember what I said, stay quiet," Bucky orders in an undertone.

 

He smiles grimly, before turning to the door and sliding it open. There are three men in combat fatigues and balaclavas training high-powered rifles on him. Bucky has his hands out, palms up and open as he gingerly slings his legs out of the van.

 

"All the way out," one orders, and Bucky stands and steps slowly away from the van. All fingers are on triggers, he doesn't want to give anyone a reason to fire this close to the kids.

 

"What were you doing in there?" another asks, almost prodding him with the muzzle of his rifle.

 

"Just getting out of the line of fire," Bucky answers.

 

The tallest of the three makes an abrupt motion with his rifle to one of his comrades. "Pat him down."

 

Bucky gets manhandled roughly, forcing him to stumble forward a couple of steps. "Clear," Handsy announces.

 

"What should we do with him?" the guy with the itchiest trigger finger he's ever seen defers back to the tall man. Bucky makes sure not to move a muscle. Twitchy has his finger on the trigger and it's not moving. He can't risk this guy getting spooked and popping off an unexpected round into the van.

 

Bucky's summarily appraised by the leader of this little trio. "Hostage," he says in a short voice. "Human shield for the pigs."

 

"Hey!" Handsy says, catching a glimpse of movement from behind Bucky. "This van's full of kids!"

 

The buzzing in Bucky's head reaches a new key.

 

Bucky doesn't risk turning around to look at them. Twitchy points his rifle towards the van's door. "How many?"

 

"Six. And young," Handsy replies. "Good for hostages, enough for all of us."

 

"No," Bucky says firmly, drawing the attention of all three hostiles. Twitchy points his rifle square at Bucky's chest.

 

The leader levels an icy gaze at Bucky. "I don't get told 'no'."

 

Bucky shakes his head. "They'll give you too much trouble, and won't move fast enough."

 

There's silence as the leader considers his answer. "We don't have to take all of them," Handsy says as he reaches in and tugs on Lani's arm. She pulls back against him, and Ramone hollers like an alley cat. Bucky half-turns to see Ramone grabbing at his sister to keep her in the vehicle. "Just enough for cover for all of us." The thug succeeds in pulling her to the edge of the van, but with one hand on his rifle, and Ramone (and now Tyler) joining in to keep Lani inside, he can't move her any further than that. Bucky clenches his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, and risks another quick glance back, seeing as much fury in her eyes as fear.

 

His hands are tied. Bucky needs to draw their attention back to him, but can't really move without the incredible likelihood of getting either Lani or himself shot in the process.

 

Bucky feels like he's talking with a mouthful of broken glass, but his voice comes out level. "The kids are loud and clumsy," he presses. "I'll come quietly and won't give you any trouble."

 

"You're in no position to be bargaining," the leader says.

 

Twitchy brandishes the muzzle of his gun towards the kids. "Just take another two and off the rest. It's not worth the trouble."

 

Bucky takes a slow step forward, hands still raised, putting himself between Twitchy and the van. "That isn't going to help you."

 

Twitchy scoffs, and Bucky's afraid he's just going to start spraying the van anyway. He steps forward again, moving away from the van. His movements get all weapons trained on him, and away from the children.

 

"I'll do whatever you want," he says calmly, and one would almost describe it as his amenable, smooth, work negotiation voice if it weren't for the buried steel beneath it. "Just leave the kids out of it. Whatever happens, they're not going to help you."

 

The leader scrutinises Bucky carefully, before he grunts. "Take the hero. Lock the kids in the van."

 

Handsy lets Lani go and yanks Bucky forward roughly instead, and it takes everything in him not to retaliate. Tyler gets offended and stands up, moving to exit the van. His movement draws Twitchy's attention, who immediately points his rifle at the fourteen year old.

 

"Bucky--" Tyler starts.

 

"Get back in the van," he orders abruptly. "You have to look after everyone."

 

"But--"

 

"Listen to him, kid," the leader says, "he's saving your life. Maybe."

 

"Hands on head," Handsy demands, and Bucky moves slowly, interlacing his fingers behind his skull. "Walk forward."

 

Twitchy pokes his head into the van and leers at the children. "Say 'bye' to your pal," he sneers nastily. Bucky can't risk turning around anymore, but he can only imagine what his kids' faces look like.

 

"You got a martyr complex or something?" The leader asks. "I would've taken the kids and left you behind."

 

"Not an option," Bucky says grimly.

 

The leader's lips stretch into a ghoulish smile, and he points his rifle towards Bucky. "Maybe you should've let me. I'm less likely to shoot kids than I am a full-grown--"

 

A circular blur of red and white comes out of nowhere smacking the leader fair in the chest, and he goes down like a sack of potatoes. Twitchy has already pointed his rifle out above head-height and started firing, Handsy is a little more conservative, trying to discern what's going on.

 

Suddenly, a blue shape launches itself at Twitchy, taking him out. With the trigger-happy one down, Bucky kicks Handsy viciously in the back of one knee, hearing a crunch. When he's on his knees, Bucky cold-cocks him, and he slumps to the ground.

 

Adrenalin spiking, he turns towards the interruption with fists raised, putting his body in front of the open van door. Just because the distraction was helpful, doesn't mean they're not also dangerous to Bucky or the kids.

 

"Are you oka-- _Bucky_?" A familiar voice asks. It's Steve, though his tone changes from confident and commanding to abject surprise in the space of a moment, eyes widening.

 

"Steve," Bucky breathes in relief, lowering his fists.

 

Steve looks beyond Bucky and into the van, where the kids are, but then his eyes flick back to Bucky, giving him a quick but thorough appraisal. "Is anyone hurt?" Bucky knows he's asking about everyone, but the question seems particularly pointed _at_ Bucky, too.

 

"Ramone has a sprained ankle, otherwise, everyone is fine. I'm fine. We need a clear route out of here," he answers, taking a moment to skim his eyes over Steve. He _is_ wearing his uniform, which is a relief under the circumstances. It looks a little dirty and battered, but there aren't any visible tears, rips or damage. His face is a bit sooty, a pale pink bruise is blooming high on his cheek -- maybe from a punch? -- but it's pretty superficial, all things considered.

 

Now seeing the bad guys laid out on the ground, the kids begin to clamber towards the door of the van getting excited when they see Captain America. Bucky half-turns and gestures for them to remain quiet, and it seems to curb some of their enthusiasm.

 

While still watching Bucky intently, Steve speaks into his helmet comms. "Tony, do you have eyes on the intersection of Washington and Front?" He pauses, and Bucky can hear a muffled reply. Steve's eyes slip to the police. "Is it clear behind the police blockade?" Another muffled reply, accompanied by the roar of a jet. Bucky looks up to see a red and gold bullet shoot through the air.

 

Steve nods, gripping Bucky's shoulder. The movement catches him by surprise and he startles for a moment, but the touch is so familiar, Bucky's tension eases. It's going to be okay, because now he's not alone; he has backup.

 

"I just need to get you past Front St, and it's clear south into Brooklyn, and you can take it from there," Steve instructs. "Tony's keeping the hostiles contained, trying to push them back into the park to get away from civilians and buildings. Clint is eyes up high."

 

"Steve, Steve! Do you remember me?" a voice calls out, and Bucky turns to the kids. Despite the very real dangerous situation they'd been in, they're now confronted with Captain America in full uniform, come to save them. It probably feels like something out of a movie for them, and they watch with big eyes. Jacob was the one who spoke.

 

Steve gives him a strained, but genuine smile. "Of course, Jacob, it's good to see you."

 

"Are you here to rescue us?" Lani asks hopefully. "My brother's hurt his ankle."

 

"I'm here to help," Steve nods. "Bucky and I are going to get you to the police, because it's safe behind them." It's still his Captain America voice, but coded softer for the kids. They respond to it immediately, hope replacing fear in their eyes, and he is so grateful for that.

 

They each reach in and help the kids out of the van and onto the sidewalk and turn south. "Just like before," Bucky repeats, "heads down, moving as quickly as you can, okay?"

 

Steve's comms crackle to life again, and Bucky knows it's something bad when the blond's mouth turns into a straight line. "Incoming," he tells Bucky, "we need to evac _now_." Bucky has never heard Steve sound like this, it sends his danger instincts haywire.

 

As if on cue, high-powered rounds start shattering glass and lodging into brickwork close by. "Run," Bucky orders the kids, who immediately jackrabbit towards the police. Bucky works on instinct; he scoops Ramone up and _legs_ it down the street. Steve is right behind him, holding his shield up for cover, the tiny figure of Georgia curled into his elbow, with arms locked in a deathgrip around his neck.

 

Bucky hears at least four bullets ricochet off Steve's shield, and each 'ping' sends a jolt of nausea to his gut.

 

"Hawkeye, cover us, damnit," Steve orders into the comms.

 

It seems like forever, but probably only takes another ten to fifteen seconds for the shooting to stop. By that time, they're almost upon the police.

 

As they get closer, Bucky sees the officers gesturing wildly for them to make it. Thankfully the presence of Steve seems to have confirmed the fact they're not the bad guys. The sight of the police seem to spur the kids faster again, giving them an extra burst of speed to reach safety.

 

They reach the line of red and blue flashing cherries and navy uniforms, and Bucky's never been so happy to see a cop in his life. Steve puts Georgia in Lani's care, and Bucky sets Ramone down. Bucky can't take a breath until he counts heads to make sure he has six, and then looks over each child. They're shaken and a little dirty from the back of the van, but okay.

 

"You'll be safe now," Steve assures the kids in a kind voice, before looking to Bucky. "Where will you go?

 

"Back to the outreach by any means necessary," Bucky says firmly. "Everyone's parents will be assembling there."

 

A nearby cop chimes in helpfully. "Not all subway lines are operational currently, but there are buses shuttling anyone who needs a ride out of danger downtown."

 

Bucky nods, thankful, as Steve's comms buzz to life again. He puts two fingers to the side of his helmet. "Acknowledged, on my way," he replies curtly.

 

Steve looks to the kids, before his gaze lingers on Bucky. "I've gotta run, but make sure you listen to Bucky; he'll keep you safe." He gives Jacob's shoulder a little squeeze, and flicks Bucky a small salute. Bucky returns it and watches as Steve sprints off in the direction of the automatic gunfire.

 

Bucky moves the kids through the police line and onto the other side. There are a few ambulances over there, and Bucky takes Ramone to see one of the paramedics. They take a few moments to assess Ramone -- mild sprained ankle -- and bandage him up. Bucky assures them Ramone will have it elevated and iced as soon as he's returned to his parents' care. They also want to look at Bucky's hand. He hadn't realised his knuckles are bruised and swelling from where he punched the bad guy. Bucky waves them off, telling the EMTs they have more pressing concerns than his hand.

 

Although Bucky is assured that it's safe, and they're no longer running, he still keeps the kids travelling under awnings and anything that will offer them overhead protection. Lani and Jacob have taken to helping support Ramone so he can walk faster, while Bucky has picked up Georgia, who seems exhausted. Tyler follows, holding Cynthia's hand.

 

They all look a little worse for wear, but Bucky couldn't be prouder of how they kept as calm as possible and followed instruction. He's not exaggerating when he thinks it saved their lives. The van situation going wrong just doesn't bear thinking about.

 

There are a bevy of buses waiting at the corner of Cadman Plaza Park. Somehow -- perhaps due to the fact he has six kids in tow -- it doesn't take long before they're on a bus heading to Crown Heights.

 

Bucky's phone is still out of service. He asks a middle-aged woman sitting across from them if he can borrow her phone. Thankfully, she's with another provider and has a signal. Bucky calls through to Denise, who has everyone's parents or guardians assembled at the outreach, waiting for news. He is able to pass on the fact that everyone is safe and accounted for, and they'll be there soon. It looks like Cynthia might actually fall asleep against Tyler's arm, she's so tired from the crash of adrenalin.

 

The adrenalin is still coursing through Bucky's body, however. It might settle when everyone's safe and sound, but not before. He attempts a few breathing exercises, but it's hard to focus on the bumpy bus ride.

 

With the gaggle of kids and one injured, Bucky sweet-talks the driver to go slightly out of their way and stop across the outreach. He thanks the driver profusely and helps unload the kids.

 

By the time they're crossing the street, parents of the children are already on the curb, scooping them up as they hit the pavement. Bucky brings up the rear, making sure everyone crosses safely. His muscles complain after having been tense for so long, and he flexes his fingers.

 

Denise approaches him with a querying expression, her arms outstretched in question. Bucky hesitates for a moment, before stepping into her embrace and allowing her to hug him. He lets out a gusty sigh and curls around her body.

 

"Thank you for keeping everyone safe," she tells him, before pulling away and holding him by the shoulders. "Are you okay? You didn't get hurt?"

 

Bucky shakes his head sharply, and drops his voice. "No, but there was a... _situation_ on the way out that I have to debrief the parents about." He looks to the families still making happy reunions. "Don't let anyone leave yet. Everyone's okay but there might be some damage control needed." He quickly relays the bare details of what happened at the van to his co-worker. She listens intently, with a grave face.

 

When he's done, she squeezes his hand. "You're right, this needs to be addressed immediately."

 

She turns to the group of adults and children, clapping to get their attention. Denise ushers them inside, ostensibly for the kids to have a drink of water, or a bathroom break. Vanessa is there, having been called in to help contact the parents of Bucky's group.

 

Denise smiles brightly. "Vanessa, could you help the kids get a drink from the break room, and maybe some cookies, too? Bucky and I need to borrow all the adults for a little bit."

 

Bucky takes the parents into one of the interview rooms and closes the door most of the way.

 

"What's this all about?" Lani and Ramone's father asks impatiently, "I need to get Ramone home so he can rest."

 

"I appreciate that, Mr Garza," Denise says, "but Bucky needs to tell you about what happened on the way out. While the children are in very good physical shape, they've had a harrowing few hours, the effects of which might become apparent in the following days, even weeks."

 

With the instant full weight of each parent's gazes upon him, Bucky clasps his hands behind his back, stands with feet spaced shoulder-width apart, and details the circumstances of their journey from _Dumbo Boulders_ to behind the police line. It's tough going over the particulars while being watched so intensely. Lani and Ramone's father mutters a curse when he hears that someone laid a hand on his daughter, and Bucky winces at the memory. However, he does take a modicum of pleasure out of telling Mr Garza that he knocked that particular individual out cold, Mr Garza giving him an approving nod in return.

 

The assembled adults are shocked and distressed that their kids had been so close to danger, but Bucky makes a point to state that not only were the children exceptional at following instructions, but they stayed calm and helped one another the whole time.

 

He also mentions the involvement of Steve, given that Captain America's presence is likely to be important to their retelling.

 

When he's finished, Bucky feels exhausted. He looks to the faces of the assembled parents, wondering if he's about to get strips torn off him, because it wouldn't be unheard of. Even if being in the midst of the situation was beyond his control.

 

And then he properly sees and remembers _who_ he's addressing; the ex-service personnel, or spouses and partners of said personnel. They take this information on the chin, and are grateful that no one was hurt. They give thanks for small mercies.

 

Denise takes over the reigns of the discussion, turning to Bucky. "Firstly, thank you for all that you did to keep the children safe," she says sincerely. "I'm sure I speak for everyone here--" she gestures to the parents, who all nod in assent "--when I tell you how grateful we all are that you were there. They were, without a doubt, in the best hands they could've possibly been in."

 

Bucky rubs his aching knuckles as he hears praise echoed from the parents'. It's nice, he guesses, but he wishes it weren't necessary. Denise then continues.

 

"Even though everybody is safe, you all know that scary or traumatic circumstances might have longer-lasting ramifications. If the children need to talk to you about what happened, how they felt, be open to it. If that might in any way put you _yourself_ in a compromising position, I am available. In fact, in light of what has happened, each child should have at least _one_ visit with me, and we can talk about how they're processing what happened.

 

"They could be nervous for a little while, have nightmares, difficult questions... if you require any further assistance, I'll get you all a copy of my office and cell number, you can call at any time."

 

There's noise in the office and Bucky withdraws, leaving Denise in the interview room with the parents. He finds Vanessa talking animatedly with the children, who are eating cookies and are -- from what he picks up on -- describing how Captain America swooped in and knocked out the bad guys with his shield. Bucky can't help but smile at that.

 

Tyler is standing a little apart from the group, chewing on a cookie slowly. He looks a little distant. Bucky sidles up to him.

 

"Hey, T," he says, carefully draping an arm around the fourteen year old's shoulders.

 

"Hey," he says quietly.

 

Bucky inclines his body towards Tyler's. "I wanted to thank you for being such a huge help out there, with Jacob, and then Cynthia. You were so brave, and I couldn't have done it without you."

 

Tyler looks up at him with a tremulous smile. "I-- I was scared," he admits quietly.

 

"Me too, buddy." He squeezes Tyler's shoulder, "and that's nothing to be ashamed of. But we got through it."

 

Tyler nods, and they stand there quietly for a few minutes. Eventually, Bucky encourages him to join the rest of the kids, and the drawn expression from his face fades.

 

With his cell still stubbornly not connecting to the network, Bucky heads over to his desk and uses the work phone to call his parents. His mom answers, and Bucky assures her he's okay. Just having gone over the details, he doesn't feel like hashing them out again. Instead, he gives his mom a vague account of being in the area, but getting out of Dodge, quickly.

 

Which is more or less true.

 

Winifred's good-natured mother henning makes Bucky realise how much the events have sapped him of strength. Bucky says his goodbyes and puts the receiver in the cradle with a thump. He rubs the pads of his index finger and thumb in his eyes, feeling gritty and tired.

 

"Hey," a soft voice says at Bucky's elbow. Bucky opens his eyes blearily to find Denise. "Have you heard from Steve?"

 

"The signal's still out, but I doubt it. He's probably going to be busy for a while."

 

"Is it? Mine dropped out for an hour, but it's back now."

 

Bucky retrieves the phone from his pocket to check, and as suspected, his phone is still on 'Emergency Calls Only'.

 

Denise nods thoughtfully. "I'm sure he'll get through soon." She pauses. "I'm so grateful he was there."

 

"Me too," Bucky admits heavily. "I don't know what would've happened to the kids if we'd been separated."

 

"Or what would've happened to _you_ ," Denise counters.

 

Bucky's lips thin. There is a specific physical response -- calm-but-nauseous -- when he's had weapons pointed at him that he never thought he'd feel again. It _still_ sits like a millstone in his stomach.

 

"--ucky. Bucky?" Bucky shakes his head and looks up when Denise calls him. She levels her compassionate-but-appraising gaze at him. He must've spaced out for a second. "Need me to do anything?"

 

Bucky gives her a weak smile, because it's her way of asking is he okay without saying those exact words."

 

"Na, Dee," he responds truthfully. "I think... I think I just need to go home and have a rest."

 

She looks at him for a moment longer, before squeezing his elbow. "Okay." Her hand slides down to take his bruised knuckles in her hand gently. "Have this seen to, yes? Ice it?"

 

"Yes, mom," Bucky says, but manages to give her another little smile anyway.

 

Bucky makes a point to say goodbye to the kids before he goes, who all give him excessively long hugs in the process. Georgia latches around his leg and won't let go. It's common for kids who have been through a traumatic experience to become clingy, so Bucky is very gentle with her.

 

The surprise is when Jacob comes and wraps his arms around Bucky's waist. Bucky doesn't know what to do with his hands for a moment, before resting them lightly on Jacob's back. "You okay, buddy?" he asks tentatively.

 

"Those guys were going to kill you," he said, voice muffled into Bucky's shirt.

 

"Maybe," Bucky admits grudgingly, because his credibility has always been shaky with Jacob; lying or embellishing won't improve the situation. "They might've tried, but I would've made it very difficult for them as long as they were away from the van, and away from you guys."

 

Jacob thinks on this for a moment. "I'm glad Steve showed up," he says in a small voice.

 

"That is something we can both agree on," Bucky nods vehemently.

 

Jacob lets go, and wipes his nose. "Think that he will come and visit us again? Because of what happened?"

 

Steve's already expressed wanting to do a little work with the outreach, perhaps a good starting point would be to meet with these kids, help them process what has been an extraordinarily trying day. It'd do them the world of good. "Maybe I can get in touch with his people," Bucky says, shrugging one shoulder.

 

Bucky gives a quick wave to everyone else as he finally makes his way out of the building. On the other side of the door, he breathes out a gusty sigh.

 

The street feels oddly quiet as Bucky walks to his car; there's always less traffic on the holiday, but combining that with whatever's going on -- and _still_ going on, if the sirens are any indication -- in Dumbo, there are very few vehicles on the road.

 

As Bucky kicks the engine over, his car radio crackles to life. He usually listens to a local community station on the drive to and from work, so of course given the situation, their regular broadcast has been totally disbanded.

 

" _\--peat, there's still a police zone cordoning off the area north of Prospect Street, to the west at Old Fulton, and to the east at Jay. There are detours in place, but if you live or work in these areas, you won't be able to enter until the situation is resolved--"_

_"--of course, if you're already in these areas, NYPD advise you to stay indoors, keep your windows closed and curtains drawn. They are working with the Avengers--"_

_"--I saw a Facebook live post of Iron Man dropping some goons directly into a police van--"_

Bucky's fingers flex and tighten on his steering wheel.

_"--and there have been dozens of Captain America and Hawkeye sightings--"_

_"--buses are still running from just outside the police zone further into Brooklyn, but subway travel at the moment is a bit sketchy--"_

_"--the Williamsburg bridge is the only means of transportation between the boroughs, as the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges are both closed--"_

His teeth grind in his jaw, and Bucky makes a concerted effort to loosen it.

_"--at this stage, nobody knows exactly_ why _the bridge was attacked, but early reports suggest that it was an escape that became a standoff with police, and spilled out onto the street after multiple incidents in lower Manhattan--"_

_"--ptain Rogers and his team, along with many members of the NYPD have seemingly contained the hostile activity towards Main Street Park--"_

Bucky huffs and jabs at his radio channels, looking for a station playing music. The first one he comes across is the classical station, and it'll do. He makes an effort to release the white-knuckled grip he has on the steering wheel.

 

At least the reports say that whoever the assholes are, they're getting contained, and there's no mention any of the Avengers being hurt. Steve is doing what he does best, and hopefully it will all be resolved soon. And he hopes that involves knocking out a few bad guy teeth, especially the dickbags who pointed rifles and manhandled _his kids_. At last look, the three wastes of space fell where they dropped, onto the pavement. He wonders if the police have taken them into custody yet.

 

Bucky stops at traffic lights and rubs the back of his neck. The muscles are locking up from tension, and that's starting to make the base of his skull ache.

 

It's not long before Bucky's on his own street, even though he barely remembers actually driving there. It seems his body worked pretty much on autopilot to get him home. With the holiday, he can park just outside his building, which is a huge relief.

 

He makes his way upstairs with slow footsteps, before unlocking his door and shuffling inside. Bucky drops his keys on the side table and empties his pockets. The noise draws Babushka from one of her many hiding places in the apartment. She meows and trots up to rub her tiny body against Bucky's ankle. He spares her a glance but isn't really in the mood to bend over and pick her up.

Bucky shuffles into his living room. It's abnormally quiet, even with Babushka's soft footfalls and mewling for attention.

 

It strikes him that it's the first time since this morning that he has nothing to do: He's taken care of the kids as best he could, got them to safety, explained things to Dee and their parents, and driven home.

 

And now he has nothing to do with his hands, or his voice or his body.

 

Bucky's neck aches with tension, his knuckles hurt, his blood is loud in his ears. With a muffled sigh, Bucky heads into his bedroom, taking his shirt off along the way. He throws it into the hamper and moves towards his wardrobe to get a fresh shirt.

 

Bucky moves to his wardrobe and slides open the door --

 

\-- and it's not his closet it's the van and he sees six children curled in on one another, looking up at him in terror --

 

Bucky shuts the door abruptly and turns away from the wardrobe. The air is too still around him, as though it's waiting for something to happen, anticipation making his hair stand on end.

 

He doesn't like the feeling.

 

He frowns and finds his phone, and pulls up his therapist Benjamin's number. Bucky chews on his thumbnail as it rings, only to have the call drop out. He looks at the screen with brows drawn together; the signal's still out. And Bucky never really got around to activating the landline in his apartment, as he enjoyed not being harassed by telemarketers.

 

The phone blinks smugly at him, and a wave of annoyance builds in Bucky sharply. It spikes faster than he expects, overwhelming him quickly. He's so frustrated, before Bucky knows it, his phone is sailing across the room, smacking into the opposite wall. He hears the telltale cracking sound, before it falls to the carpet.

 

Bucky glares at the rectangle of dark glass on the other side of the room dumbly, feeling heavy, swathed in cotton wool.

 

He turns away from the centre of his bedroom, swiping the heel of one hand across his eyes. His palm comes away wet.

 

Bucky stares at his hand, breathing as though the oxygen is scorching the surface of his trachea.

 

Things are wrong, and he's not sure how to fix them.

 

He vaguely hears Babushka mewl at his bedroom door, and the sound is incongruous with how he is feeling. Maybe he should go to her, but instead Bucky takes himself into the bathroom. A shower will feel good, will help. The tub will contain him when he shatters to pieces, of that he's reasonably certain.

 

It takes such great effort to open the door with shaking hands and step into the tub, minutes to sit at the bottom and reach for the faucets. When the water starts pouring down, it's a little cold, but the cold is okay. It soaks his hair, makes the clothing on his body stick to him. Clothes aren't meant to be in the shower, he thinks, but the task of stripping seems insurmountable. The singlet he wore under his shirt feels cold and slimy against his skin, shoes are soggy, like walking through moss as he wriggles his toes.

 

Images of sand and camouflage and automatic weapons get mixed up with pavement and brightly-coloured shirts. Laughter turns to shrieks of fear and outrage. He keeps seeing Lani's face as Handsy tried to drag her out of the van, Twitchy training a rifle on them. Sometimes the leader speaks English, sometimes Arabic. Sometimes Lani is Lani and sometimes she is Private Lodington who was bodily torn out of his jeep by an insurgent while they were stopped at a checkpoint in '12.

 

The flash of images through his mind is so dizzying, the metallic taste in his mouth so overwhelming, he dry-heaves.

 

Retching leaves him exhausted and gasping for breath, stomach aching. Water runs into his eyes and nose and mouth, making breathing difficult. Bucky just curls in on himself a little more, resting his forehead on his knee, making sure the water doesn't run up his nose.

 

The shower is just on the edge of too cold, but cold is good. Cold is not the desert, no matter how many times sand flashes into his vision, no matter how many times he sees packs and hears the thud of boots feel the Kevlar body armour on his chest and he can just about _smell_ the smoke from the burning bunker, gutted by fire and still smoldering--

 

There is a noise, a word. It's a familiar word, but he can't make it out.

 

\--his mouth still tastes metallic, eyes stinging from ash, even underneath sunglasses--

 

The word is joined by other words. Familiar, in a familiar voice. They get closer, but they don't make sense. Maybe the water is too loud, maybe his ears are broken.

 

\--the strap of his rifle cuts into his shoulder, even through the layers, but he can't adjust because it's in the right position and adjusting might mean he misses the shot and he can't he _can't miss the shot--_

"--calling and you're not answering. I called Denise to check, and she says your signal was patchy, but you came home, so I--"

 

\-- _can't miss the shot can't miss the shot can't miss can't miss can't miss can't misscan'TMISSCAN--_

" _Bucky_ ," the voice is soft and questioning and sad.

 

_\--'TMISSCAN'TMISSCAN'TMISSCAN'TMISSCAN'TMI--_

 

A shadow falls over him, and Bucky makes the monumental effort to lift his head up. Vision isn't great, there are droplets of water in his eyelashes, running all the way down his face.

 

There's a hand, and it's a big hand, and it reaches for him. That provokes a movement. Bucky's muscles contract, shifting away automaticaly, and the hand stops in mid-air. "Okay, okay. I won't touch."

 

Bucky nods, teeth chattering a little. It's cold, so cold, not sand.

 

The water keeps falling, keeps dripping off his eyelashes, his chin, his nose, and everything's blurry.

 

"Is it okay to turn off the water? You seem cold," the voice says. The voice is calm. It makes him feel marginally better, which isn't saying much, as he feels fucking _awful._ But it's better than nothing, or the spinny, nauseating swirl of images in his head. Bucky nods shallowly, and a few moments later, the water stops.

 

The voice starts again, after a little while, or a long while, he's not quite sure. "Do you know who you are?"

 

Bucky's lips twitch into a deeply ironic grimace. "Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant." He pauses, and adds as an afterthought: "32557038." Knowing doesn't seem to make him feel better. Saying the words actually makes him feel a little worse, but he has no energy left to acknowledge that.

 

"Yeah, you used to be," the voice says again, soothing, "Now you're just Bucky. Bucky Barnes."

 

"Just Bucky," Bucky repeats softly, rubbing his wet forehead.

 

"Do you know where you are?" the voice persists.

 

Bucky raises his head a little off his knees, blinking droplets out of his eyes. It's hard to see with his vision still blurry from the water, but he recognises the blue and white tile, with the little chip in the third one over from the hot water handle.

 

"Home," he croaks out, throat inexplicably hurting.

 

"You're home in Brooklyn," that voice confirms, stupidly warm and pleasant. "It's 2016, and November, and you're home. Do you..." there's a pause, and everything's silent. "Do you know who I am?"

 

Bucky turns towards the voice. He looks, and he looks, and he looks. The voice belongs to a man, crouching next to the tub. And he's large, but his face his kind, his face is so familiar. It's dirty, and a little red in places, and he remembers it and the rifles and Lani yelling in outrage and--

 

"You're Steve," Bucky says, swallowing down the rising bile. He leans back against the tile wall. "You're my boyfriend, Steve."

 

Steve face looks happy and concerned and sad all at the same time, and they are far too many emotions to be having at once. He leans forward, hands coming to rest on the edge of the tub, which Bucky watches warily.

 

"I'm your boyfriend, Steve," he confirms softly. "Can I help you out of the tub?"

 

"Don't touch me," Bucky responds frantically, pushing back against the tile behind him. The thought of hands on his wet skin makes him feel sick with dread.

 

Steve holds up both hands, palm out, and rocks backwards on his heels, away from Bucky. "I won't, unless you want me to. I promise." Steve looks around. Bucky wants to close his eyes but doesn't dare, in case Steve reaches out for him. Bucky's breath comes in harsh, nervous gasps as he watches Steve. He can't trust that Steve won't go back on his word and reach for him. Bucky's muscles start to tremor, shivering as he sits in cold, soaked clothes.

 

Steve points to a towel. "Would you like a towel, to warm up a little?" His voice is so low, Bucky nearly doesn't hear over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

 

Bucky looks at the fluffy, white cloth. It's so unassuming and harmless-looking, he could vomit. And he just might. Bucky nods once, sighing wearily.

 

Steve backs away before getting up and retrieving the towel. Bucky stares at him, watching him move. The white star on Steve's chest catches his eye. It's dirty, and there might be some specks of blood on it, he can't tell.

 

Steve once again crouches next to the tub when he returns, but rocks back on his heels so he's not too close, the towel in his large hands. His nails are chipped and dirty, and look stark against the white cloth.

 

"I can drape it across you without... without touching you directly, if that's okay," he offers.

 

Bucky nods again, and Steve moves very gingerly towards him, draping the cloth over his shoulders lightly. The touch of fabric is jarring, even though he knows it's coming, but doesn't make him cringe away. He pulls the towel around his shoulders a little more, burrowing into it.

 

Steve sits back and watches him carefully, but all Bucky can look do is press one hand into the wet fabric covering his chest. The muscles ache and burn, like his heart is being squeezed by a giant fist. Pain makes his breathing come in short, sharp gasps.

 

"Buck, can you breathe?" Steve asks, concerned.

 

Bucky glares at him balefully before shutting his eyes and doing his level best to stop hyperventilating. He inclines his body away from Steve, putting his forehead on his bent knees, and pulling the towel over his head, heaving great shuddering breaths. Steve is murmuring... something. Words and white noise that is probably meant to be comforting, but Bucky can't really hear it over the sound of the oxygen rattling in his lungs, can't hear through the stabbing ache through his chest cavity. The sound isn't unpleasant, though. It keeps him reassured that Steve's still there, even though he's not being touched.

 

A shrill ring cuts through the calm of the bathroom, and Bucky startles, heart pounding. The phone gives away his position, lets the hostiles know where they are--

 

Bucky looks out from underneath the towel, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, to see Steve fumble with his cell.

 

"It's okay, Bucky, it's Sam," Steve says soothingly, trying to connect the call.

 

He watches Steve guardedly from beneath the corner of the towel as Steve answers his phone. "Sam, I have a situation," he says into the receiver, and truer words have never been spoken. Steve pauses, and Bucky can just hear Sam's voice coming from the speaker, though he can't make out any words.

 

Bucky tunes out. He doesn't need to hear Steve tell Sam that he's coming apart at the seams. He wants to be mad at Steve for telling someone, for telling _Sam,_ but anger requires energy, and shame not nearly as much. Steve paces the length of the bathroom, left hand cupping the microphone at the bottom of the cell to tastefully muffle his replies to a largely one-sided conversation.

 

Sam seems to be doing most of the talking, asking questions that Steve answers, while he shoots concerned looks at Bucky, brow furrowed.

 

Bucky turns away, wanting to bury himself somewhere cold and dark until the panic and rot inside can melt away. He captures snippets of Steve's responses.

 

"--I understand, but there has to be an alternative, I can't leave him here alone--"

 

Bucky thinks about being alone with his thoughts, alone with the images that spin and disorient and don't leave him, not even when he closes his eyes. And he thinks being alone is only one step worse than being around people.

 

"--Street, Carroll Gardens. You'll see my bike out the front. Head to the third floor--"

 

Bucky shivers. Sitting in the bath with wet clothes still sticking to him is beginning to chill his skin. He coughs, the spasm hurting his muscles, and the sound catches Steve's attention. He shoots Bucky another concerned look, before his pacing picks up a little speed, and he fidgets manically with the buckles on his uniform.

 

Steve exchanges more words with Sam, before hanging up. He comes to gingerly crouch by the bath again. Bucky spares him an evaluating glance.

 

"What's the strategy, Captain?" Bucky sardonically whispers, "How're you going to handle me?"

 

"I'm not going to handle you, Bucky," Steve says quietly, "I'm just going to help wherever you let me."

 

Bucky stares at his soaking wet shoes. "Sam is coming," he states.

 

"Yes. I, ah... wasn't expecting to be here long, and law enforcement still need me. Sam's going to come here, and help." Steve sighs. "I want to help you so badly, but I feel like I might do more harm than good. I'm not sure how to manage _me_ , let alone someone else. But Sam's... he's _good_ at this. He's the only person I would trust to look after you."

 

The professional part of Bucky's brain, buried as it is, is impressed with Steve -- his honesty and vulnerability in the situation makes Bucky feel for him -- but he's not in a position to offer compliments. Bucky grunts instead, pulling distractedly at his shoelace, the warm feelings muted and seemingly far away.

 

"Do you want to get into dry clothes before he gets here?" Steve asks.

 

Bucky pictures Sam seeing him drenched and pathetic in the bath, and it weighs heavier than getting Steve to help him out. He nods shallowly.

 

When it comes to Steve _actually_ helping him, however, it's different. The idea of being touched still makes him want to vomit. Even the image of Steve's hands reaching out for him sends him into a cold sweat.

 

"What can I do to help?" Steve asks, hovering. He's not breaking his promise not to touch, doesn't move a muscle until Bucky's willing to give him the go-ahead. Bucky thinks that Steve might wait all day if he had to.

 

He thinks about it, before slowly moving the towel to cover the entirety of his shoulders, arms and back.

 

"Use the towel," Bucky bites out, closing his eyes, hoping Steve understands what he means.

 

Nothing happens for a few moments, and Bucky's body is taut like a bowstring, until he hears Steve's voice, closer to him.

 

"Okay, Bucky. I'll only touch the towel." Steve holds him ever-so-gently, cupping his elbows covered by the terrycloth. Bucky can feel soft pressure, and it's jarring, but doesn't set him off. With care, Steve helps Bucky to his feet, and out of the tub to stand on his bathmat.

 

Taking two careful steps away from Steve, Bucky sits himself on his toilet seat, wrapping the towel tightly around his arms. Telegraphing every single movement, Steve unties Bucky's shoelaces and removes his sodden footwear and socks without so much as brushing against his skin. Bucky's jeans present a little more of a challenge, but he is the one to at least unzip them. With a sigh, Bucky wriggles the wet denim off his hips to his thighs, and then lets Steve do the rest.

 

Captain America in complete uniform is undressing him as though he were a highly unstable explosive.

 

Well. How wrong is he?

 

Steve hangs the wet clothes off the towel rack and turns expectantly back to Bucky. All that's left is his underwear, and singlet; far more problematic to get off without touching.

 

"I can do it," Bucky sighs. At least, he _thinks_ he can. Maybe.

 

Steve looks concerned, but marginally relieved. "Okay, Buck. I'll get you some dry clothes. I'll knock before I come back in, all right?"

 

"Okay," Bucky exhales.

 

Steve backs out and shuts the door, leaving it ajar. Bucky hears drawers open and shut, wardrobe door slide open, clothes and coat hangers being taken out.

 

Bucky lets the towel fall away from his shoulders to rest behind him. He said he could do it himself, but now the task of removing two measly pieces of clothing seems insurmountable. Why did he think he could do this? Why did he think he could do _anything_?

 

Hot tears splash on the backs of his hands, and Bucky gives into the frustration for a little while, pressing his eyes into the heels of his hands, harshly breathing. He knows Steve probably hears him. He doesn't care.

 

As he gently rocks backwards and forwards, Bucky slides his hands over the backs of his shoulders, grabbing a handful of wet singlet. In a long, agonising pull, he tugs the singlet off bit by bit, until it's down past his arms. Bucky flicks it to the floor with a wet plop.

 

The underwear is different, but no less challenging. It takes Bucky _minuteshoursyears_ to pull them down and kick them away, leaving him bereft of anything.

 

Bucky can hear Steve talking to someone again, but he can't make out who. He sits on the toilet seat, naked and shivering, drying tear tracks leaving itchy lines on the skin of his cheeks.

 

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, when there's a gentle knock at the door, before it pushes open.

 

Steve pokes his head around the corner, and Bucky has to look away at the naked _feeling_ on his face. "I have clean clothes," he says, holding a pile of dry laundry.

 

Bucky knows he should use his words and ask for help, but the sounds stick in his throat, sandpaper and Velcro and glue, shoulders hunched somewhere around his ears.

 

"Would you like me to help make it quick?" Steve asks gently, and Bucky's embarrassment makes him pause. Frustration, however, makes him nod.

 

Steve gives him a tender smile and sets the clothes on the sink. He pulls out a pair of cotton boxer shorts that Bucky stares dispassionately at. There's also socks, a pair of sweatpants, a cotton shirt, and a dark grey hooded sweatshirt.

 

"I'm not sure of the best way to do this," he admits, fiddling with the boxers, "but... you could lean on my shoulders while I slide them on?"

 

Bucky clasps his hands in front of him to still the tremor from shivering. It's either this, or greet Sam naked as they day he was born.

 

It's hard -- it feels like the hardest thing he's ever had to _do_ with his legs -- but Bucky stands. He watches Steve take a small step forward, and then go on bended knee on the tile floor in front of him.

 

At any other time, him naked and Steve kneeling in front of him in his uniform would be the subject of a wet dream, but not today. Today he'll consider it a win if he can spare abject humiliation in front of Steve's best friend.

 

Bucky gingerly places one hand, then the other, on Steve's shoulders. He doesn't really feel anything, only the reinforced body armour under his hands. Instigating the touching, and the fact that it's Steve, seems to make it okay. Steve holds the waistband out of the boxers as far as they'll go, and it takes all of Bucky's concentration to step into the leg holes. But he does, and Steve pulls them up to rest gently at his hips.

 

It goes much the same way with the sweatpants. Bucky's skin is still a little damp, and they stick to him a little, but the pants are so much warmer. He wraps his arms around his torso Steve stands slowly, dusting off his hands. "That's better. Shirt now?"

 

"No," Bucky croaks out. He flicks a finger tiredly towards the pile of clothes. "Hoodie."

 

Steve takes the hoodie and holds it out for Bucky to step into, which he does. The fleece rubs across his skin chipping away at the bitter cold. Steve offers to help him with the zip, but Bucky waves him away, and pulls the sides around him instead.

 

He shuffles past Steve and heads to his bedroom, slumping down on the edge of the mattress, shoulders bowed in. Steve follows, taking his socks with, setting them down beside Bucky. His black overnight bag is also on the bed, and Bucky can see that it's half-full with clothes.

 

Steve catches him looking at it. "What's this for?" Bucky asks. "Didn't know I was going anywhere."

 

The mattress dips as Steve sits on the other side of the bed. "You might've heard me speaking to someone on the phone..." There's a pregnant pause, before he continues, "I spoke to your mom."

 

The blood in Bucky's body momentarily stops flowing, before he puts his head in his hands. "No, no, no, no no _no, Steve--_ " he whispers frantically.

 

"Bucky, hear me out," Steve says pacifyingly, reaching out towards Bucky, only to stop before he makes contact. "I need to go soon, and while Sam is able to help, he might be called away, too. Sam suggested that he take you to somewhere that'll be familiar and safe, and have people around."

 

Bucky lets out a few shuddering breaths. His parents haven't seen him anywhere close to this since he left the army nearly three years ago... Bucky doesn't know if he's going to be able to handle the scrutiny.

 

He doesn't realise that his breathing starts picking up, shallow and fast.

 

"Bucky, Bucky, it's going to be okay," Steve says, and Bucky appreciates how Steve is trying to comfort him using only words and not touch. He's trying, he's trying _so fucking hard_.

 

Bucky turns to face Steve on the mattress. His eyes settle somewhere around Steve's chin, not quite able to meet his eyes. "I can't go there, Steve. I-- I'm not ready." Bucky puts his hands over his face and lets out a frustrated exclamation. "I'm a fucking mess."

 

Steve shuffles an infinitesimal bit closer. "Look, I won't make you go if you don't want. You can stay here with Sam if you _really_ want to, but we're all on emergency call-out right now, and if someone contacts him..." Steve sighs. "Look, it's always going to be up to you, but if Sam goes, you'll be here on your own." He shrugs helplessly. "I know, this is far from the best-case scenario, but I've been over the situation a dozen times, and this the only logical solution, as I figure."

 

Bucky runs his hands through his hair, pulling on the strands. The tug sends a jolt of pain through his head, cutting through the haze. He doesn't want to talk to _anyone_ , doesn't want his parents to look on him with furrowed brow and ask how he's feeling... but the idea of being left alone when he's at his most vulnerable sends a cold drip of dread down his spine.

 

"Tell me what you want to do, Buck," Steve implores, "I won't make you go anywhere you don't want to go."

 

Bucky sighs, tugging his hair one more time, before flicking his gaze to Steve, actually making eye contact.

 

It's not his first choice, but everything that Steve said is true. They'll take care of him, and he won't be alone. Granted, Bucky's not in the best state to discern his _own_ solution to the problem, but if nothing else, he trusts Steve's leadership and his tactical ability to have figured out the best solution.

 

There's a knock at his door, and both Bucky and Steve snap their eyes in that direction. "That'll be Sam," Steve says, getting off the bed and heading off to let him in.

 

"Great," Bucky mutters, picking up the warm socks lying next to him.

 

He hears some murmuring at the front door, before Steve re-enters his bedroom, Sam behind him.

 

Sam gives Bucky a reassuring smile, even though there's a gravity behind his eyes. "Hey, man," he says, and there's a calm in Sam's voice that does something to him. It's like a balm on his frazzled nerves. Bucky wonders if he sounds like that when he's dealing with his problem cases. He twists the socks around his hands, toes digging into the carpet.

 

Sam comes to lean against Bucky's chest of drawers, casual and non-threatening. "I promise I won't ask you dumb-ass questions like 'How are you feeling?'"

 

On a normal day, Bucky could give him a wry smile and come back with a pithy comment. Right now he can manage a muscle spasm and a grimace. God, his muscles are so sore from being locked up and tense.

 

"Steve tells me that you're not really keen on heading to your folks' house." Bucky nods jerkily, and Sam continues. "It's okay with me if we don't go, but I'm sure Steve _also_ explained to you the pretty compelling few reasons why it's a good idea?"

 

Bucky nods again.

 

"I'm all about free will, though," Sam says, pushing himself away from the furniture. "You're not going to feel any better being forced somewhere you don't want to go."

 

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, fingers leaving a red mark on his skin. "I'll go," he says after a long pause.

 

Steve's shoulders slump in what he guesses is relief, and Sam's face loses a little of its concerned edge.

 

"For what it's worth," Sam says, "I think this is the right decision."

 

Steve's phone starts ringing, startling Bucky. Steve apologises and stands up to answer it. The one-sided conversation and Steve's increasingly stiff body language makes it clear that he's needed somewhere else. While Steve's presence at his most vulnerable is a little bit jarring, the thought of him leaving is just as distasteful. The man in question hangs up and turns towards Bucky and Sam.   
  
"I have to go," he says, with a slump of his shoulders.   
  
Bucky can't say anything, but Sam pipes up. "I've got your boy from here, Steve. We'll be okay." He looks to Bucky. "Right, Barnes?"   
  
Bucky looks to Steve and makes eye contact before dropping it to the mattress. He extends his hand, just slightly. Steve's eyes track the movement, and he sits gently on the edge of the bed once again. Steve reaches out so very slowly, waiting for Bucky to move away.   
  
But he doesn't.   
  
The touch of Steve's hand is strange, Bucky almost feels dispassionate about it, after all is said and done. But the warmth of his touch is real and it is good. Steve breathes out a little sound of gratitude at being able to touch him, and he doesn't push it, doesn't do more than that gentle touch.   
  
"I'll come see you after, okay?" he says. Bucky nods mutely. Steve's eyes are expressive, and Bucky knows he's sincere. Steve looks to Sam, who nods.  
  
Steve looks to Bucky, and Bucky can't bear to look into his face. His eyes slip shut, and pain wells up in his chest. It hurts to breathe. With the little bit of strength he's got, Bucky squeezes Steve's fingers as hard as he can, which isn't really very hard.  
  
A soft pair of lips on his forehead confuses the pain receptors in his body, and for a split second, everything is okay. It all comes crashing back down the moment after, but he got a  _second._  
  
Bucky opens his eyes when Steve's lips and hand withdraw. He looks at Steve's concerned and perfect face, a little blurry through his watery eyes, but no less perfect.  
  
"I'll walk you out," Sam offers. Steve nods, and they exit together, leaving Bucky in his bedroom alone. He hears murmured voices at the door, and then it opening and closing.   
  
Sam comes back in, presently, while Bucky is staring at the walls. He observes for a moment, before pointing to the bag on the bed. "I see the boy scout got you all prepared?" 

"Probably packed the underwear I hate," Bucky mumbles, and Sam lets out a rich chuckle. The sound is stupidly pleasant in his haze of grey and numb.   
  
"He's kind of passive-aggressive like that, sometimes," Sam smiles, and Bucky almost smiles back. Almost.  
  
"So," Sam says, and the concerned gravity is back in his voice. It makes the hair stand up on the back of Bucky's neck. "Want to head off?"   
  
Bucky lets out a shuddering breath. "Yeah, okay." He's not sure he's ever felt less excited to visit his parents, but it seems to be the only option available to him.  
  
With a bit of effort, Bucky pulls on his socks, and some sneakers Sam gets out of his living room, shoulders the bag, and holds Bucky's door open for him.  
  
The entire journey to his parents' place happens in some strange, numb state between asleep and awake. He gets into Sam's car and stoically stares out the window the entire way. Bucky didn't tell Sam his parents' address, so Steve must've filled him in.  
  
The sun is already dipping, making Bucky wonder how long he was sitting in the bathroom. He can't remember what time he got home, he's not sure when Steve showed up to find him in the shower... it's muddy. For someone like Bucky, who is generally very organised with his day, losing time like that makes him feel antsy, nauseated.  
  
Sam bounces between making inoffensive remarks about driving through Brooklyn and comfortable silence. He doesn't really _ask_ Bucky anything, so Bucky feels well within his rights to not contribute to the one-sided conversation. It's nice to not feel pressured into talking, or explaining himself. He can just have a moment, he can just be quiet. He can just _be._  
  
The streets gradually get more familiar, and Bucky unwittingly starts to tense. It's in his muscles, they burn and ache.

 

When the car pulls up at the house, Bucky notes that his mom's car is on the street so Sam can park by the house. The mere thought that his parents' have prepared for his potential arrival makes his gut roil.

 

They know he's bad and they expect him home.

 

They're going to _see_ what a fucking mess he is.

 

Again.

 

And they're going to have to deal with it.

 

 _Again_.

 

Bucky's breathing starts to speed up again, hitching a little in his chest. Sam parks and before he even takes his hands off the steering wheel, he speaks. "Breath in for four, then out for four."

 

"What?" Bucky half-demands, eyes wary.

 

"In for four, out for four," Sam says again. "C'mon, it'll help."

 

Bucky bites his bottom lip and is almost defiant, save for the fact that he really _is_ hyperventilating and would dearly love to fucking _stop._

It's a monumental effort, but Bucky does it. Fingers clawed in the fabric of his sweatpants, he breathes in and out, in and out, in and out. It takes a minute, but his body stops gasping for air.

 

Sam gives him an encouraging smile and gets out of his car, grabbing Bucky's bag. Bucky waits for a moment, exhausted and empty, before he slips out.

 

There's a chill in the air, and Bucky zips his hoodie up to cover his bare skin. It feels weird shuffling to the front house with Sam carrying everything.

 

They walk up to the door, Sam just behind Bucky's right shoulder. Bucky stops at the stoop, gaze drawn inexorably to the doorbell, because he's not actually sure he can push it.

 

"If you want me to do it, I will. If you want to go, we can do that, too," Sam says from behind him.

 

He can hear vague sounds of his parents talking from the inside, can almost smell the pie that his mom is probably stress-baking inside.

 

"It's okay," he says, voice a little hoarse. "I'll do it."

 

The doorbell chimes under Bucky's finger. He sees the silhouette behind the glass move, and then Winifred is standing in front of him.

 

She looks harried, but beautiful, and Bucky sucks in a hitched breath.

 

"Hello, darling," she says, a smile braving her face. She steps back from the door, and opens her arms just a little.

 

Bucky moves before he even really takes much stock of his situation, stepping through the door and into the arms of his mother. His mom smells like soap and pie and safety, and he allows himself one shuddering breath to the crook of her neck.

 

She rubs his back gently, and is a reminder of family, and of good things... but she also reminds him of coming back from the service, and rock bottom, falling backwards. It's enough to get him to draw away.

 

Bucky wipes at his nose, slightly embarrassed at his kneejerk reaction. His arms come to wrap around his torso protectively. Winnie, to her eternal credit, doesn't try to pull him back. There is a sheen to her eyes, but that's about as much as she shows. Bucky doesn't think he could handle his mother crying right now.

 

She seems to notice Sam for the first time and shakes her head dazedly. "Where are my manners... you must be Mr Wilson. Please, come in."

 

"It's just Sam, Mrs Barnes," Sam says with an ease Bucky envies bitterly.

 

Bucky's father shows up and shakes Sam's hand, and spirits Bucky's bag of possessions away. He offers Bucky a smile, but in return Bucky just can't quite bring himself to hug his father. After the initial contact with Winifred, his skin goes back to feeling over-sensitive and _wrong_ , and he just can't bear it. George seems occupied with his task, however, and doesn't look at Bucky oddly.

 

Winifred somehow gets them all into the front room, where he and Steve had hung out with everyone after their family dinner. Bucky sits in his preferred position on loveseat, tucking one leg up and underneath the other. His digits run reflexively over the soft fabric, feeling the texture beneath his fingertips. His mom, dad, and Sam occupy the other chairs to make a horseshoe shape.

 

The love seat at the curve of the horseshoe, so he's close, but not necessarily sitting with one party or the other, and not feeling like he's in the hot seat.

 

At some stage, a mug of peppermint tea is pressed into his hands, with soft conversation flows between Sam and his parents a few feet away. It seems they're actually talking about Sam's relationship with Steve, not even about him at _all_. Well, thank Heaven for small mercies.

 

The room is the same as always; same curtains, same carpet, same furniture, although the furniture has changed position at least once during the years Bucky's been home from the Army. Hell, Bucky remembers being the one to change location of the loveseat so it faced the open room more, with its back towards the wall, instead of the window.

 

Bucky lifts the mug to his lips to find the liquid is gone. He startles, and looks down at the mug.

 

He doesn't even remember drinking it.

 

Bucky sighs, and pushes himself to his feet. He needs... he's not sure, but whatever it is, it's not here, in this room.

 

All talk between his parents and Sam stops when he gets up. He watches the three of them exchange looks before Winnie is the one to address him.

 

"Would you like a fresh cup of tea?" she asks, a hopeful smile in place.

 

Bucky shakes his head spasmodically, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. "I'm going to..." He doesn't finish the sentence, just jerks his head towards the stairs.

 

"Your bag is in your room, son," his dad comments. Bucky murmurs a thanks, and trudges up the stairs. Soft voices begin as soon as he's seven steps up and therefore, out of sight. They can finally talk about him in peace.

 

Bucky walks across the landing, and gingerly pushes his bedroom door open.

 

His room is a mix of childhood knick-knacks, and bits and pieces from between Army deployments. There are a few old music posters on the walls, his desk with former school books in the alcoves. His mother doesn't go in there much, save to make sure his bed has clean sheets and dust occasionally.

 

It's smaller than the bedroom in his brownstone, but it feels safe and familiar. Bucky looks around, running his fingertips over his bedspread. He levers himself down to sit on the floor, back leaning against the mattress, arms wrapped around his bent legs.

 

He presses his forehead into his bent knees and spends some time just breathing, he's not sure how long. Sometimes breathing is harder, sometimes his eyes are wet, but in this room, at this time, it's okay.

 

Eventually, Bucky wipes his cheeks and then bumps something underneath the bed. He turns to see what it is, to find an old cardboard box full of comics. Letting out a choked little laugh, Bucky pulls the box out.

 

The smell of the ink, the feel of the paper, is something so very different to anything bad, it makes him want to sob with relief.

 

Bucky pulls out the comic from the top and lays it on the ground leafing through it slowly. When he gets to the end, he pulls out the next one, then the next one, then the next one.

 

He sits there until his back is sore and his neck has a crick in it, but doesn't get up.

 

It takes a gentle knock on the doorframe to shake him out of his daze. Bucky looks up, expecting to see one of his parents, or maybe even Sam.

 

He is wrong, on all accounts.

 

Steve stands at his door, looking slightly awkward, a hand behind his back. He's wearing civilian clothes -- jeans and a grey tshirt and blue jacket -- looking a little cleaner than Bucky remembers. "Hey, Buck," he says, the warm timbre of his voice curling around Bucky's spine, "can I come in?"

 

"Steve" Bucky croaks out, hand stilling on the pages of the comic books. He wonders why Steve isn't entering, when he realises it won't happen without permission. "Yeah... yeah. Come in."

 

Steve takes a few small steps into his room, moving slowly and purposefully. "I'm a little later than I wanted to be," he apologises, "I just had to make a stop along the way."

 

With that, he pulls the hand from behind his back to reveal a squirming, calico fuzzball. Bucky's breath snags in his chest. "Bushka," he says, eyes getting instantly itchy as he reaches for her, "I forgot-- Steve, I forgot about her--"

 

Steve hands her over gently, and Bucky pulls her into the cradle of his lap. She starts purring like an outboard motor, and why the fuck does Bucky want to go to pieces over his fucking _cat_?

 

"I didn't forget," Steve says gently, "and you're forgiven for being a little occupied." He sits down next to Bucky, still giving them a respectable distance apart. "I stopped by and got all of her things, as well as some clothes and supplies for me..." He looks to Bucky, eyes trained on him unwaveringly. "If it's all right with your parents, I want to spend the night. If they have a spare room... or I can sleep on the couch... or an air mattress." Steve leans forward earnestly. "Hell, I'll sleep on the floor in the hallway, I don't rightly care, as long as you're okay with it."

 

Bucky obsessively runs his fingers through Babushka's coat. She preens, the purrs vibrating through his legs. "Y'might scare Grace," he mumbles, and Steve lets out a little chuckle.

 

"Are you saying she's not ready to see Captain America sleeping on the floor of her house?" he asks with a gentle tease.

 

"Nobody's ready for that," Bucky replies, and Steve's answering smile cuts through the melancholy, damp, grey fog.

 

It's so strange for Steve to be here. Bucky's dated people and he's been in relationships and he's had meltdowns before... but he can't ever recall being in a serious relationship -- and yeah, he _is_ serious about Steve -- and having been cracked open to be in a vulnerable place so thoroughly.

 

He's never had a point where there's been someone other than his family or friends or counsellors who have had a vested interest in Bucky's wellbeing. And for the obvious ways that Steve is unfamiliar at dealing with someone else's PTSD... he's being a fucking _champion_ at it. Bucky wonders how much his parents and Sam are helping, and how much of it is just _him._

 

"Speaking of Grace," Steve starts, and Bucky looks at him askance, "she's home, and downstairs with Sam and your folks. Winnie has invited Sam and I to stay for dinner, it's nearly ready. Are you hungry?"

 

It's refreshing being treated like a human adult, and not a child. He appreciates the fact that Steve's detailing who's in the house and what's happening, so he's not blind-sided.

 

His stomach suddenly cramps in the middle of his thought processes, and Bucky realises he doesn't actually remember the last time he ate. "Mhm," he says in answer to Steve's question, "but I don't--" Bucky stops, trying to get his thoughts in order. "I don't know if I should eat. With everyone."

 

Steve nods in empathy. "Whatever you're comfortable with. You can come down, or your mom was happy for me to bring a plate up to you if you wanted to stay here."

 

He _wants_ to eat with his family, and Steve, and Sam, but the prospect also makes him wildly apprehensive. Bucky doesn't want to push it, only to vomit his anxiety on the dining room floor -- _literally_.

 

"Yeah, yeah okay," Bucky says, and Steve's beautiful smile is back, bright and sincere. He pushes himself to his feet.

 

"Leave it with me. I'll be back soon," Steve promises, before backing out of his room and heading away. Bucky listens to his heavy tread go down the stairs, and briefly closes his eyes in relief, trusting that Steve will take care of everything.

 

After a quiet moment, he turns his attention to Babushka, who is curled in his lap, purely content. The guilt at forgetting her sits heavily in his stomach, but he ostensibly knows it's not his fault. It's easy to say that, however, it's harder to believe it.

 

Babushka doesn't seem to hold a grudge, and Bucky is just so fucking grateful for Steve, and the fact he remembered her.

 

"He's good people," Bucky whispers to her, running his fingers down her gently sloped brow. There are only purrs in reply.

 

Steve comes up a little while later with a tray. There are two plates and a few sandwiches piled on, as well as two glasses of water.

 

Steve sets the tray down on the ground, and unloads it. "Your mom had a roast chicken, and all sorts of stuff, but I thought maybe something simple would be nice."

 

Bucky's stomach growls and Steve gives him a gentle smile. He sits down next to Bucky; close enough that Bucky can feel the heat radiating off his skin, but not pressed against him. Bucky's inexplicably concerned for Steve. "You can eat downstairs with everyone. If you want," he offers. "You don't have to sit here in the dark with me."

 

Steve looks to Bucky quietly, who takes a triangle and shoves the corner into his mouth so he doesn't say anything else stupid.

 

"If you'd prefer to eat alone, that's okay. If it's all the same to you, though, I'd like to stay here. If you don't mind, that is."

 

Bucky swallows his mouthful of bread and chicken without chewing it nearly enough, and has to take a gulp from the glass of water to get it down properly. "I want you to stay," he says softly. Because it's the truth, because Steve's calm is making the buzzing die down.

 

"Thank you," Steve responds, equally as softly, and picks up half of a chicken sandwich.

 

They share their sandwiches quietly -- Bucky feeding the occasional piece of chicken to a whining Babushka -- and Steve taking the opportunity to look around Bucky's room. He asks questions about the posters on the walls, and Bucky thinks of an anecdote or two to tell him.

 

Steve seems most fascinated with the comics, flicking through them. He asks questions about the characters, makes comments on the art, tells Bucky how different the comics were back when he was a kid.

 

It's mild and inoffensive subject matter, and Bucky finds himself just wanting to listen to Steve's voice. He's abstractly thought on many occasions that Steve's voice is nice, but it takes on an entirely new meaning now. His low tones and deep cadence are like a balm for his frazzled nerves. Bucky's brain tries to sabotage him, quickly flashing up images and sounds from earlier in the day, with Steve in his uniform, using his commanding, official tone. Bullets fly and the children scream, and--

 

Bucky shudders, and does his best to stamp them down, and let Steve's voice as it is _now_ overwrite the memory.

 

Steve stops talking briefly as Bucky slowly rests his head against the curve of Steve's shoulder, before he picks up his thread of conversation again. One of his large, warm hands tentatively rests against Bucky's thigh, and he sighs.

 

Bucky isn't sure how long they sit together like that, and Steve doesn't fill the whole time with idle chatter. It's nice to just sit, petting Babushka, listening to the sounds of his family downstairs, and their faint voices. The familiar sounds, and surroundings, are beginning to have an almost sedative affect on Bucky.

 

Steve only stirs when Bucky tries to stifle a yawn. "Maybe you should try to get a little rest?" he suggests.

 

The prospect is daunting, but his body is crying out for sleep. It's been run through a physical and emotional ringer, and he needs to reset.

 

"Maybe," Bucky says.

 

Steve stares at him a moment before he coughs uncomfortably. "I'll clear away the plates, and then you can..." He gestures to the bed with an awkward movement. "I'll leave you to rest." Steve looks like the absolute _last_ thing he wants to be doing is leaving, and yet, he still gathers the plates on the tray and makes to do just that.

 

Bucky looks at the back of Steve's head, then at mattress. The thought of being alone tonight, even in his family home, is awful. Even if he's not sure he could share a bed with Steve, he still doesn't necessarily want him to go.

 

"Stay," Bucky blurts out, groaning as he tries to stand. Steve turns on his heel quickly, balancing the tray expertly in one hand, putting the other gently under his elbow to help him up. Bucky's legs have pins and needles from being in the one place for so goddamn long, and he feels like an old man.

 

"Okay, Buck," Steve says, quietly hopeful. "Where would you like me?"

 

Bucky is actually so grateful that Steve hasn't once automatically assumed they're sharing a bed. It makes his words so much easier. "There's an air mattress. In the hall closet," he says.

 

Steve's face is beautiful and open, smiling gently. "Okay. I'll take these down and get your dad to help me. Unless you want to come down and wish everyone a goodnight?"

 

"No... Could you do it for me?" The last of Bucky's energy is going to go into brushing his teeth, he can't go down and up the stairs again.

 

"Of course," Steve says.

 

He shoots Bucky another hopeful smile as he leaves the room, and he's alone again.

 

His eyes fall on the bag that Steve packed for him. He pulls it over and has a half-hearted dig through it; clothes, some toiletries, his tablet, and a dog-eared paperback he'd been poking at for a few nights.

 

Bucky finds his toothbrush and shuffles off to the bathroom. He closes his eyes as he brushes his teeth, one hand gripping the counter to maintain balance. When he's done, he spits into the sink and rinses his mouth.

 

He takes a few moments to look into the mirror. It's not pleasant, by any stretch. Bucky's skin is a little pale, making his stubble stand out in stark relief on his chin. The skin beneath his eyes is darker than normal, hair falling flat after having presumably spent hours having the shower water beat down on it.

 

"You look like shit," Bucky tells his reflection.

 

The mirror has no clever reply.

 

Bucky splashes warm water on his face and dries it with the hand towel. He exits the bathroom quietly, to hear two male voices coming from his bedroom. His dad is helping Steve pump up the air mattress.

 

They talk in low voices, soothing tones, as they work. Bucky walks quietly to his room to watch them for a few moments, before deliberately touching the doorknob to make a noise. Both Steve and his dad look to him immediately as he appears.

 

George gives him a kind smile. "Have everything you need, son?"

 

Bucky lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Think so."

 

"I was just letting Steve know where extra blankets are, or anything else you might need overnight." He turns to Steve. "Are you sure you'll be fine with just one blanket?"

 

"I'm sure, Mr Barnes. I can't thank you enough for allowing me to stay," Steve offers sincerely.

 

"It's George, _please_ , Steve. Unless you'd like me to start calling you 'Captain' again."

 

Steve gives a self-effacing smile. "No, I definitely would not," he says. Bucky notes Steve's still nervous, talking to his dad, but it's not quite as stilted as the last time. Silver lining, silver lining.

 

They've moved Bucky's desk chair into his wardrobe, as the air mattress takes up a lot of his floor space. Babushka hides under Bucky's pillow on his bed, concerned about the noisy pump. After it's inflated, Steve and his dad make short work of putting the linens on, and a few pillows from Abi's old bed.

 

George dusts his hands when everything is done. He moves to get off the floor, groaning as his knees creak with the effort. Steve goes to help, but Bucky, without thinking, holds his arm out for his dad to grip.

 

"Thanks, James," George says, giving Bucky's forearm a warm squeeze, and the contact _doesn't_ want make Bucky peel the skin off his arm, so he counts that as a win.

 

"Look, you're grown men, and I'm sure you'll be able to muddle through anything you might need should it arise through the night, but if there _is_ a problem, feel free to come down the hall and wake us."

 

Steve nods, and Bucky is so grateful to be cared for, but not babied. He nods as well, before George turns to Steve. "If you do need a bit more room, or the air mattress isn't comfortable--" Or Bucky needs space because he's going to put you in a chokehold in the middle of the night "--you can relocate to Abigail's room."

 

"Thank you, sir, I'll keep that in mind," Steve says, but casts Bucky a side glance, "I think I will be just fine here, though."

 

George nods. "Very well." He turns back to Bucky. "Sleep well, son. Sam and Gracie and your mother asked me to say goodnight to you for them. They'll undoubtedly see you tomorrow."

 

"Thanks," Bucky whispers, unaccountably grateful for the space.

 

Bucky's dad nods to both of them, before exiting. He waits until he hears George's footsteps heading back downstairs, before exhaling.

 

Steve stands on the other side of the mattress, watching him carefully. "I have some clothes in Abi's room," he announces, "I'll just go get changed."

 

The words are soft; more of a question than a statement. Bucky flops down heavily on the edge of his bed, startling a mew out of Babushka. "Yeah, okay."

 

Steve smiles gamely and exits, not giving any indication that he's worried Bucky's just going to do a runner when left alone.

 

The November air is chilly. Bucky decides to bundle himself up underneath the covers. There's an ancient cd player as part of his bedside clock on his nightstand. Checking the disc tray, Bucky presses play. In a few moments, the recorded sounds of a thunderstorm fill the room.

 

He hasn't had to use this for a few years, but it's no less powerful. The storm sounds are harmless white noise that helps him sleep. He actually has an app on his phone for this when he's at home, but Bucky's not quite sure where his phone currently _is_. Rain noises are soothing, they tend to block out sounds of the city that are disturbing, or help cut through bad dreams.

 

Bucky tucks himself into a loose ball, back to the wall. Eventually, Babushka is satisfied that it's safe to come out, so burrows her way out from underneath Bucky's second pillow, padding over to curl up at Bucky's shoulder. She begins purring, the vibrations moving through her tiny body and tickling Bucky's skin. Her presence is grounding, and a comfort.

 

A few minutes later, Steve's silhouette fills his doorframe. He's wearing pale blue checked flannel pants, and a heather grey tee. He scratches his chest absently, before gesturing to the door. "Open or closed?"

 

"Closed," Bucky says, muffled a little by his blanket.

 

"You got it," Steve says, shutting the door with a quiet 'click'.

 

Steve kneels next to his air mattress and readjusts the pillows. Babushka meows at him, and Bucky wonders if she's confused that her other favourite person is sleeping on the floor, instead of up near her.

 

"I'm right here, Bushka," Steve tuts, running his fingers over her little head. Babushka pushes into his hand, not caring how she gets the attention, just so long as she gets it.

 

He sits on the air mattress, resting forearms on his knees, so close and yet, so far.

 

"Are you going to sleep now, too, or just here to babysit?" Bucky asks, knowing he's being probably a little unfair.

 

"You see any babies around here?" Steve replies gently. "I'm-- I'm actually I'm pretty exhausted, myself. Today wasn't one of my most fun..." he admits, and Bucky feels a bit shitty because he wasn't the _only_ one getting shot at today, and he's being an asshole.

 

"Sorry," he mutters, knees inching a little closer to his chest.

 

"S'okay," Steve says, before biting his bottom lip. "Will you think about waking me in the night if you need anything?"

 

Bucky sighs. "I can't promise. But." There doesn't seem to be anything else he can say, and so he leaves it.

 

The 'but' seems to be enough for Steve, however. "Okay." He finally lies on the mattress, on the sheet but under the thin blanket, pulling it mid-chest. "The rain sounds are nice," he remarks with a beautiful smile, and Bucky grunts in affirmation.

 

They fall into silence, Bucky listening for the storm, and beneath it, the steady inhale/exhale of Steve's breaths. Presently, Bucky hears Steve say a faint 'goodnight', which he doesn't really acknowledge. Bucky yawns as his own eyes start to droop, confident that Steve will understand.

 

***  
  
Bucky's clock says it's at least a few hours later when he jolts upright in bed, chest heaving and sheets pooling around his waist. The dreams were hot, and bright, and loud. A little sound escapes his throat, and it's lucky that small noise is _all_ that comes out.

 

The storm cd plays on, and Bucky tries to focus on the sounds of spattering raindrops on glass and the rolling thunder.

 

"Bucky?" a familiar voice asks, and Bucky snaps his head down and to the left, to see Steve stir in the dim light from his cd player. "Do you need anything?"

 

Bucky's not sure if he should lie or tell the truth, he's not sure what's worse. He settles for an entirely ambiguous shrug, wiping away beading perspiration from his upper lip.

 

Steve is alert and awake, but calm. Last Bucky had seen, he'd been lying facing away, to give Bucky the illusion of privacy, but now he's on his back, hands braced to push himself up into a sitting position at a moment's notice. "If I can help, tell me?"

 

Bucky licks his dry lips nervously. "Can--" He starts again, feeling sick in the stomach. "Can I touch you?"

 

The smile Steve gives him is so beautiful it makes his heart ache. "Of course." He gives Bucky an appraising look. "Shall I stay here?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky croaks out in response.

 

Steve rolls onto his other side so he's facing Bucky's bed, eyes slipping shut. He's close enough to touch, so very close.

 

Bucky lies on the edge of his mattress on his side, and reaches out in the gap between their beds. It might as well be like trying to reach across the Grand Canyon, but after two aborted attempts, he makes it. Softly, Bucky puts his hand on Steve's arm. The skin is warm, with solid muscle underneath. It's so familiar.

 

Steve smiles again, breathing even and dependable. "Goodnight, Buck," he murmurs.

 

Bucky knows, he _knows_ Steve isn't asleep yet, but he's allowing Bucky the dignity of getting his own shit together, just being there, not doing anything, not trying to fix anything.

 

And Bucky realises he's been doing that all fucking day; being there for him without expectation, or judgment. Not treating him like he's broken -- even though sometimes it feels like he kind of is -- but being kind, being thoughtful, giving him the power to choose even on the little things, the simple things. The things that only a fucking idiot would choose incorrectly, Steve still lets Bucky choose for himself.

 

He's a fucking superhero, and a thoughtful man, and a caring boyfriend, and Bucky--

 

It dawns on him, then. It's obvious, has been for a little bit, but no more obvious than in this moment. And never has the thought had such sharp clarity in his mind.

 

Bucky loves him.

 

Steve has officially seen Bucky at his lowest of the low, and, if anything, proven to be even better than Bucky could've ever given him credit for. And for that, coupled with a myriad of other reasons, Bucky loves him. Bucky's _in_ love with him.

 

His fingers twitch on Steve's bicep, and he can feel the muscle under his palm, but Steve stays still, stays quiet. Just being there, supporting.

 

Bucky's pretty sure Steve might love him, too, but that's something to consider another time.

 

Babushka, having scooted out of the way at Bucky's panic, mews softly and resettles herself between his chin and outstretched arm, and Bucky allows the feel of Steve underneath his hand, and the shallow, breathy purrs from his kitten lull him back to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary/Trigger warning:
> 
> Bucky becomes involved in an incident with armed assailants while out in Brooklyn with some kids, and has a few personal run-ins with them. He gets all kids to safety, with a little help from Captain America, but the emotional strain of the incidents trigger a PTSD episode later when he's alone. Steve arrives later to find Bucky still riding his attack out. He is able to help somewhat, before calling Sam in to take over. Sam takes Bucky to the Barnes' family house, where his parents take him in. Bucky comes to the conclusion that he's in love with Steve. 
> 
>  
> 
> Additional Notes:
> 
> * Bucky doesn't like to do it, but it's instinct for him to slip into his soldier role when necessary. He makes a concerted effort in his life to not be in situations where this might be a thing, but in this case, it was inevitable and entirely necessary. 
> 
> * Things don't go pear-shaped for him until much later, however, because he has a job to do, and he needs to get it done. It's why he doesn't crack until he is home alone and literally doesn't have anything else to do.
> 
> * I have no knowledge of emergency procedures for police or emergency service personnel, I made it up. If it's inaccurate, I apologise!
> 
> * The so-called 'Twitchy' bad guy reminds me of Clamps from Futurama. 
> 
> * All the girls' names in this (Cynthia, Lani, Georgia) are friends of mine. They don't read this fic, they know they're in it as kids, and are all weirdly flattered. You adorable dorks. <3 
> 
> * Bucky talks to the parents (who are mostly military) like he's debriefing. He can't help it. 
> 
> * Bucky knows what he's going through, he knows what he'd potentially suggest to someone else going through it, but it doesn't help him from being able to self-medicate, as it were. 
> 
> * Steve does NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO. But he's trying. He also likes to use his resources. He has to go, but he knows Sam is far more equipped to handle this situation than he is. He doesn't want to leave, but if he has to, he wants someone he can trust implicitly to be able to help out. (If for some reason he hadn't been able to get in touch with Sam, he would've called Denise). 
> 
> * It's a very significant thing to me that when Bucky answers the 'who are you' question with his name, rank and serial number, Steve gently corrects him. Because Steve is slowly realising that Bucky's spent a number of months with him, showing him that he doesn't want to identify has a soldier primarily. It's in how he doesn't want to go to the SHIELD rifle range, or he's not interested in entertaining combat talk, or how he's uncomfortable with being addressed as 'Sergeant'. For Bucky to say that first up, he's not himself, he's hurting. For Steve to realise this, and to correct that thinking, it's huge. It shows that while they're still learning about one another, Steve is really beginning to get him. 
> 
> * Steve and Sam want to try and give Bucky choices. They don't want him to feel like he's being pressured to do anything he doesn't want to do. They offer him the choice, in the hope that, even in a bit of a compromised state, logic will win out, and Bucky will choose the best option. He does. 
> 
> * George and Winifred are A+ at looking after Bucky, and they do all the right things. They know exactly what he needs now, because when Bucky first came back, they got a LOT wrong. Like, a LOT. They learnt the hard way. 
> 
> * Sarah asked me if Winnie was surprised to get the call from Steve saying that Bucky had had a PTSD episode. I think she was concerned for him when they spoke on the phone, but Bucky sounded pretty good. Tired is understandable. It did cross her mind, but she hoped he'd be okay. She was probably planning on asking if he wanted to come over for dinner just to sort of cover bases, and then Steve called. She was sad, but unfortunately, not surprised. 
> 
> * While Sam's downstairs, he talks to George and Winifred about Bucky's history with PTSD, and how treating him has gone in the past. When Steve arrives, they all prep him a little on what Bucky needs. 
> 
> * It should get better later, but during and immediately following his episode, touch is a big fucking deal to Bucky. If he doesn't give permission or initiate it, don't touch him. He'll get better, but for now, it's a thing. 
> 
> * Steve is handling things like a boss currently, but he's going against a lot of his natural instincts to just leap in there. He doesn't have a dude he can punch to make Bucky feel better, and that is hard. Steve is doing a lot of teeth-grinding and fist-clenching when he's not with Bucky. 
> 
> * This has been pretty taxing, so I'm actually taking a mini-break from writing the next chapter, by writing the final chapter of Bite Your Tongue. I could use the lightness!


	17. Dating (weeks 15-16)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Slow Road To Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, you guys. The response to the last chapter utterly blew me away, and I'm still making my way through some of the replies. Thank you for caring so much about these versions of the characters. 
> 
> I know I made you wait for a bit for this, but I wasn't totally idle while I was giving poor bucky a breather. I finished Bite Your Tongue, did the final coda for Cause & Effect, and due to a stray comment, came up with an entirely new continuation for that fic, called And So It Goes. If you're in the mood for more, be sure to check them out. 
> 
> As always, this wouldn't be possible without Sarah, whom I adore beyond the telling. Srsly. Love. Your. Face. 
> 
> And super special... this chapter is dedicated to the real-life Dee, who inspired this entire piece and her namesake. She became a mum for the first time between this chapter and the last! <3 Love you lots, Dee, can't wait to meet your little giiirrrl <3 <3 <3

_**The One With The Slow Road To Recovery** _

_**(Location: Barnes family residence)** _

 

The first few days after Bucky gets to his parents' house are strange. The panic and sadness that had been passengers on his emotional rollercoaster have gotten off, to be replaced with emptiness, depression, and resentment.

 

He doesn't leave his bedroom for most of the first day, the top level of the house for most of the second.

 

Bucky shuffles around in a pair of soft pants and an oversized fleece sweater, no shoes. His parents are around, but they tread very carefully to not be _on top_ of him. He finds himself at odds with being happy he's not alone, and feeling vulnerable, like an exposed nerve, around his family. He spends a lot of time with his arms crossed, wrapped around himself.

 

Again, Bucky's not sure if the action holds him together, or wards people away.

 

Time to himself doesn't seem to be much of an option. Grace is still in the house, and she wants to see him. Then there's Rebecca, Nick, and the kids dropping by to check on him.

 

Sam makes a couple of appearances as well, which at least serves one important purpose; he replaces Bucky's phone with some new Stark tech that Bucky isn't sure he likes. At any rate, that glass monstrosity is plugged in on the other side of the room, untouched.

 

And then there's Steve.

 

Steve spends almost every moment he can at the Barnes house. He tries not to be at Bucky's side every minute of the day, but Bucky can see the internal struggle. He'll wake up from the many naps he takes around the house, to hear Steve's voice coming from the kitchen, or down the hall.

 

And it should be comforting, it _should..._ He shoots Bucky gentle smiles, and helps out around the house, and inexplicably spends a lot of time with Winnie in the kitchen.

But it's driving Bucky to distraction.

 

At least Becca leaves off after the first visit, and Abi sends strings of texts to Bucky's new phone. When he deigns to look at them, it doesn't seem like she's expecting a reply, just sends funny thoughts or pictures she thinks Bucky might like. Even though he doesn't answer them, he kind of likes the gentle, easy distractions. Grace... well, it's her house, too, but she does try and not get underfoot.

 

But it's hard. It's _hard._ Bucky doesn't want to look his sisters in the eye. He doesn't want to see pity for him, to see sympathy. They're never meant to look at him like this. He's the eldest, god damn _everything_ , and they're not meant to _ever_ view him as compromised.

 

He doesn't want to see it, so he doesn't look at them at all.

 

The same cannot be said for Steve, because Steve is _always there_.

 

And Bucky loves him, but that love seems to be crawling into his throat and choking him right now. The only constant companionship he can take is Babushka's, and then, even _she_ knows that he needs some time to himself, and wanders off to do whatever it is that cats do when they're alone.

 

On the fourth evening after his episode, Steve knocks on the doorframe leading to the den. Bucky's pretending to watch tv, lying prostrate on the sofa with Babushka curled in the triangle made by his bent knees.

 

"You don't need to knock," Bucky says, not taking his eyes away from whatever he ended up turning on.

 

"It's polite," Steve says in a soft voice. "Can I come in?"

 

Bucky doesn't move for a long moment, but when he does, he pushes himself up into a sitting position, wrapping the blanket that had been draped over him around his shoulders. Babushka puts up a token protest and leaps to the ground.

 

Steve shuffles in and takes the vacated seat. "I was wondering if we could talk for a minute," he begins.

 

"What d'you call what we're doing?" Bucky asks. It's meant to be a playful comment, but his delivery leaves much to be desired. With the tone of voice, and without a smile, it comes out a lot more acerbic than advertised.

 

Bucky sighs and gives Steve an exhausted 'carry on' gesture with his hand.

 

Steve leans on his elbows, his hands clasped together like a penitent man. "I saw Sam today, he asked how you were doing... how _I_ was doing."

 

Bucky glances at Steve from the corner of his eye, whose eyes are trained on his joined hands, not him. "What did you say?"

 

Steve sighs and still doesn't make eye contact. "I said... I thought you were doing about as well as could be expected, and I told him..." Steve shakes his head, brow furrowed. "I told him this has been pretty hard."

 

Bucky's eyes drop to the floor. Oddly enough, he never expected Steve to admit it to him. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's a bad thing. Maybe it's the precursor to 'it's hard and I'm not sure I can do it' thing.

 

"I feel like I'm getting underfoot. I mean, I want to be here for you, don't get me wrong, but..." Steve makes an aborted gesture with his hands. "I think in the end I'm just pissing you off." Those huge shoulders slump down. Accompanied with a sigh, Bucky's not sure he's ever seen Steve so dejected, and it's disquieting.

 

Bucky shifts on the sofa awkwardly. Steve's been nothing but a pillar of stability for four days. To see him like this now, it's starting to rattle Bucky, ringing tiny alarm bells in the back of his brain.

 

"I told Sam that," Steve continues, "and he said... he said it might be beneficial for the both of us if I gave you some space. He got in touch with Benjamin--" Bucky's head snaps up at that, "--and they both thought maybe me being here was putting too much on you. Expectation, or pressure."

 

Bucky sits quietly and looks at Steve, who seems unhappy. If it's a break up, it sounds like it's not his choice.

 

"What did they suggest?" Bucky asks when he can get his voice to work.

 

"They thought it might be good if I... went home. I don't _want_ to leave," Steve tries to reassure him vehemently, reaching out to touch, but pulling back at the last minute. "I don't want to. But if my being here is causing you stress, a bit of distance might help give you some breathing room."

 

Breathing room. It's a novel concept.

 

Bucky looks at Steve, gives him the most thorough examination he's cared to make in the last few days, and he sees the weariness. There are darker circles under his eyes, and lines marring the smoothness of his forehead.

 

And this is _so_ not fair to Steve, this whole situation. Bucky's mental health is taxing on Steve, which then backfires and puts even _more_ pressure on Bucky to heal.

 

It's a spiral that's only going one way; down.

 

And as selfish as it sounds, he can't focus on Steve now, he needs to focus on himself. Healing himself helps Steve.

 

As hard as it is, what Steve's giving him is a gift.

 

"Time... for the both of us," Bucky says slowly, "would be good."

 

He's not sure how Steve looks relieved and devastated in equal measures.

 

"They didn't say it had to be a complete communication blackout," Steve continues, looking at his hands. "Sam said maybe we could go back to texting, and phone calls? That way you have more control over how much or how little we chat."

 

It's not the worst idea he's ever heard. In fact, it's probably something he'd suggest to someone else in this position.

 

"That is, if you want that," Steve begins to babble at Bucky's unresponsiveness. "You don't have to have any contact if you don't want it, that's entirely up to you. I wouldn't force it or--"

 

"Steve," Bucky interrupts, trying valiantly for a smile, "texting would be okay."

 

The smile comes out a little more like a grimace than he would like, but Steve ignores that. His shoulders release tension in relief. He telegraphs his movements, reaching out slowly towards Bucky.

 

Bucky shuffles closer, allowing Steve to pull him to his chest. Being wrapped in Steve's embrace, but knowing that he won't be there in Bucky's room later that night, allows Bucky to soak it in, appreciate it for what it is.

 

"When are you going to go?" Bucky asks, words muffled in Steve's sweater.

 

"After dinner. Your mom said she already cooked enough food for me, and if I go earlier, it'll go to waste."

 

Bucky huffs a laugh. "Yeah... that's mom for you."

 

Steve's last night over for dinner is nice. Bucky decides to eat with everyone at the dining table as opposed to in his room or in front of the television. It's something lovely to see Steve interact with his family. Bucky doesn't much feel like contributing to the back-and-forth at the table, mostly relegating himself to eating and observing.

 

There's a definite improvement on Steve's part interacting with Bucky's dad, and his mom is treating Steve less like a celebrity and more like a long-lost son.

 

And then there's Grace, who is completely warming to Steve. Bucky watches her interactions carefully, sees her almost completely forgetting whom she's sitting next to. Grace makes him laugh, and is shocked and surprised when Steve is overcome with laughter, shaking his shoulders and clutching his chest. Her eyes catch Bucky's, and Bucky can definitely bring himself to give her a little smile and lift one shoulder in a shrug.

 

As dinner winds to a close, it grows quiet again, as Steve's impending departure gets closer. Bucky helps Steve gather his belongings, but given Steve only brought the bare essentials over, it shouldn't be a two-man job that takes an hour. But it does.

 

After Steve's deflated the air mattress and put it away, he and Bucky take Steve's things downstairs. He says a quick and heartfelt goodbye to George and Winifred and Grace, before the three Barneses deliberately make themselves scarce.

 

Bucky stands just inside the door, arms wrapped around himself. Steve gives him a hangdog look, before visibly pushing it away to paste a smile on his features. Bucky remembers a similar smile in the USO propaganda films he dug up a few weeks ago.

 

"It's not forever, Steve," Bucky says quietly.

 

"I know," Steve replies, doing his best to inject positivity into his tone. "I don't want to go, but... I don't want to be a hindrance, either."

 

"You're not a hindrance," Bucky is quick to reassure. "You've done so much to help. I just... I need to do a bit on my own before I can call the rest of the team in. I..." Bucky puts the heel of one hand on his forehead, trying to keep his emotions in check, trying to put his feelings into words. "As soon as I'm ready to walk, I'll call you. But I need to do the standing up on my own. Does that make any kind of sense?"

 

"I believe so," Steve says softly.

 

Steve looks at him, and Bucky is overcome at the man's expression. It's not pity, or shame, or pacifying.

 

It's compassion, and pride, and maybe even a bit of love. And Bucky realises that Steve would give Bucky whatever he needs, no matter the personal cost.

 

It's incredibly stupid. It's beyond caring.

 

It's fucking _Steve_.

 

Bucky's bottom lip quavers, even though his teeth are sunk into it. Even though his body doesn't want to cooperate, he uncrosses his arms, and makes a small, abortive movement with them towards Steve.

 

Steve drops his bag by the door and steps forward, reaching out to take Bucky's face gently between his hands. His thumbs brush Bucky's cheekbones, before lips softly rest on his. Bucky's arms curl tentatively around his torso.

 

It's a sweet kiss, one that Bucky breaks when he feels his eyes beginning to itch. He pulls back and rests his forehead against Steve's clavicle.

 

One of Steve's large hands comes to rest at the back of his neck. "I should go," he says, voice hoarse with emotion.

 

With what amounts to a monumental effort, Bucky pushes himself away, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater.

 

"I'll see you soon?" Steve says, the statement more a question at his uncertainty. Bucky just nods, and Steve slips out of his house.

 

Bucky stares at the back of the closed door for an indeterminate period of time, before he bypasses the rest of his family and shuffles himself upstairs.

 

His room looks so bare. With the mattress and the few things of Steve's gone, it seems unusually empty. Bucky ends up climbing into bed without washing his face or brushing his teeth or doing any of the things he'd normally do before bedtime. Babushka ends up coming into the room, mewling what Bucky imagines is displeasure that her favourite blond scratching post has up and disappeared.

 

Bucky lies in bed for a while, sleep eluding him. Eventually, he gets out of bed and goes to retrieve his new phone, plugged in on the other side of the room.

 

Ignoring the myriad of unread messages from friends and family, Bucky opens a new window. He ponders what to say for a few moments.

 

_Bucky: Bushka misses you. I think she finds your company more appealing right now_

_Bucky: Thank you. I'm sorry you had to go, but thank you._

 

A short time later, his phone chimes its still-unfamiliar message tone. Bucky reaches over to look at it, hands giving a minute tremble.

 

_Steve: Whatever needs to be done, I'll do it, you know that. You're important to me._

_Steve: Goodnight, Bucky. May I write you tomorrow?_

Bucky almost lets out a sob at the words, but it comes out more of a hiccoughing laugh. Laughter is better than tears, he supposes.

 

_Bucky: Of course you can_

Bucky turns the phone completely off and places it on his bedside, curling in on himself a little. Babushka takes her place on his pillow, and Bucky finally lets himself try to get some sleep.

 

***  
  
Bucky misses Steve, but he also doesn't miss him. Without Steve around, he can really focus inward, on trying to weave the fraying and tattered parts of the tapestry that is _James Barnes_ back together.

 

It's easier said than done, but it begins to happen.

 

He watches old movies with Grace at night. She doesn't ask him to do or say or talk about anything in particular, and they're both allowed one veto on a movie each night. Bucky still hasn't forgiven her for vetoing _Little Shop of Horrors_ for _Citizen Kane._

 

The day after Steve leaves, Bucky picks up his phone and makes a call. About forty-five minutes later, Benjamin shows up.

 

He apologises for being unable to be contacted during the troubles in Brooklyn, but Bucky understands. It's not Benjamin's fault the networks were shitty, or that he broke his phone afterwards.

 

Benjamin is serious, but kind. Bucky goes through the steps slowly, and tries to articulate how he felt when the kids were in danger, when they were on the run with bullets shattering glass, how it felt to tell the childrens' parents what they'd been in the thick of.

 

In the end, Bucky tells Benjamin the identity of his boyfriend, as it does have some bearing on the details of his story. Benjamin's eyebrows raise a little, but otherwise doesn't offer comment as to who Steve is, just how his role in the events are affecting him now.

 

They talk for a really long time, after which Bucky feels hollowed out. That night, he goes and sits at the kitchen counter and watches his mother prepare dinner, without a sound. Winifred goes about her business, humming and chattering to herself at this time, making sure the tea in front of Bucky is always hot.

 

It's soothing, resting his head on his hands, watching her in her apron. Bucky doesn't talk, and she doesn't expect him to, and that's good.

 

The next day he has a breather, and collects himself emotionally, because the following day is Denise's turn.

 

It's harder to speak to Denise than it is to Benjamin. She doesn't sit disconnected from him, across a table, she sits next to him in the den, holding one of Bucky's hands in her lap.

 

It's inevitable that this period means he's going to have some enforced time off work, but Dee encourages him to come back into the office and visit whenever he's ready.

 

She tells him his charges have been asking about him, particularly the kids who were with him. They're resilient little guys and girls, and are working through the emotions that come with going through a scary experience. They also adore Bucky, and were very concerned when Dee told them he needed some time off work.

 

Denise suggests that, if Bucky feels up to it, he comes into the office one day specifically to see the kids; it would be good for their own recovery to touch base with Bucky and see that he's doing okay. Bucky doesn't set a date, but he does agree to this.

 

He misses them.

 

She asks how Steve's doing, and Bucky admits that they're taking some time apart so Bucky can focus on getting a hold on things. At first Denise mistakes Bucky's comments for them breaking up, which Bucky is quick to clarify.

 

He explains that it had been a combined suggestion of both Sam's and Benjamin's, of which Steve agreed to readily. Denise's brows turn down, but she nods in understanding.

 

"Good," Denise says firmly, "I didn't feel like kicking Captain America's ass, but it doesn't mean I wouldn't do it." Bucky has to laugh at that, because she totally _would_.

 

Subjects turn to a less personal nature, and Denise fills Bucky in on how the outreach is doing; Dee has taken on a few of his more pressing cases, the recreation group activities have been postponed until he's back, they're still budgeting their new grant money. There's a steady stream of hand-drawn cards and artwork amassing on Bucky's desk in his absence.

 

It's obvious that he's very much missed. Bucky does his best to take this at face value and not read deeper and feel guilt for not being there.

 

In the end, Dee leaves with a huge hug, and tells him to not even think about coming back until after Thanksgiving.

 

After that conversation, Bucky goes to sit at the bottom of the shower to try and get his shit together.

 

***

 

Bucky's mom has taken a few days off work to be with him, but when she has to go back, he's left alone. And while Babushka is good company, being alone isn't all its cracked up to be in his frame of mind.

 

When he calls Rebecca, she picks up on the fourth ring.

 

"Hey, big brother," she says, sounding a little harried.

 

"Hey," he says hesitantly, "is this a bad time?"

 

A squeal punctuates the call, and Bucky draws back a little. "Not really. Only Izzy's teething and Bobby is having some kind of minor meltdown over not being allowed to have snickerdoodles for breakfast. You know. Business as usual."

 

Bucky gives a chuckle and rubs his head. "Yeah, okay. I-- ah, wanted to see if you wanted some compa--"

 

"Oh _God_ yes. Please, Buck. Do you need a ride? I can load the kids in the station wagon and--"

 

"It sounds like you've got enough dramas. I can take dad's car."

 

"Don't think I'm agreeing to this only because I need to speak to another adult," Rebecca says seriously.

 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Bucky replies gravely.

 

It's an effort, but he also feels accomplished when he can bring himself to get dressed and get out to the car; that's really half the battle.

 

Once Bucky's sitting in the car, everything just kind of follows on. He drives to Rebecca's house, and is immediately enveloped into a soft, homey setting, smelling of baby wipes and cookies and lavender fabric softener.

 

To say that Rebecca's happy to see him is an understatement. He takes a crying Izzy off her hands straight away, folding her up in his arms and talking softly to her.

 

"I know your gums hurt, babydoll, but crying isn't going to make it any better," he coos to her. Bucky dips his head and presses his nose to the soft skin just above her ear and inhales deeply, smelling baby powder and dandelions. "Believe me, I know," he says, as though imparting a closely-guarded secret. He presses a kiss to her temple and Izzy stops yowling, though big, fat tears still run down her cheeks. He wipes them away and puts her up on his shoulder, patting her back until she starts to fall asleep.

 

Becca, who's been trying to wrangle Robert into a long-sleeved shirt for five minutes, mouths 'thank you'.

 

Bucky stays until Nick gets home from work. He hangs out a little longer, helping Bobby with bath time while he waits out rush hour, before heading home.

 

It's nice to be around his niece and nephew. They take his mind off a lot of pressing concerns, and gives him something to discuss with the other members of his family, that's not strictly about _him_.

 

It's also exhausting, and has him conking out in his bed before ten p.m., in a truly deep sleep.

 

Bucky goes back the next day, and the day after.

 

It's not all easy. When Becca has to go to the supermarket and suggests Bucky take the kids out for a walk to the park, he nearly hyperventilates. The thought of something going wrong while he's out with his sister's kids sends anxiety surging through his body.

 

He doesn't call Benjamin, though.

 

_Bucky: Becca said I should take the kids to the park and I started panicking. What if something goes wrong?_

_Steve: Do whatever feels safe for you. If taking them to the park makes you feel unsafe, maybe try the front yard first, or the end of the block. Or you don't have to take them out at all. Trust your judgment; I do. x_

Bucky looks down at the message, feeling bolstered by Steve's words. Realistically, he knows Steve's right, but Bucky also knows that he needs to believe it more than he does now to be confident in taking them out.

 

He ends up taking them into the front yard, and then down to the end of the block before he breaks out in a sweat, watching the trees and scrutinising passing traffic too much.

 

Bucky takes them back, and needs to sit on the sofa with his head in his hands for a few minutes, breathing heavily. After a moment or two, Bobby joins him on the sofa, tentatively waving his DVD of _Ferngully_ in Bucky's direction. It's enough to pull Bucky out of the panic, gives him a task, allows him to focus and calm down.

 

The next day when he visits, they walk two blocks.

 

The day after, they actually make it to the park.

 

_Bucky: [image attached] Bobby plays trucks at the park like a little badass._

_Steve: Because he IS._

_Steve: I'm so proud of you, Buck._

_Bucky: Gee, thanks Ma ;)_

It sounds a little sarcastic, but Bucky means it wholeheartedly.

 

The back and forth with Steve is good. It throws him back to their anonymous courtship, where he says good morning and goodnight, and talks about his day in between.

 

Knowing that he's still there, that he somehow hasn't been scared off by Bucky's baggage, is reassuring.

 

When he gets home from Becca and Nick's after taking the kids to the park, he's emotionally exhausted, but feeling otherwise pretty accomplished.

 

He goes to see his mother, who is shooing Babushka out of the kitchen while she prepares dinner. Bucky scoops his complaining kitten up and sits at the counter, stroking her head.

 

"How was your visit?" Winifred asks, peering over a saucepan on the stove.

 

"Good," Bucky replies. He pauses, wondering if he should go on, and decides it's warranted. "I took the kids to the park today."

 

Winifred looks away from the stove and beams at him. "Sounds wonderful, dear," she says.

 

"Not when you have to convince Bobby sand isn't part of his diet," he grumbles through a small smile.

 

"I can see how that would be a problem," Winnie commiserates.

 

George walks into the kitchen from the den and kisses his wife on the cheek. They share a silent exchange, which Bucky observes carefully.

 

"And speaking in a roundabout way of food..." Winnie wipes her hands on a dishtowel and clasps them in front of her, "I'm not sure you've given too much thought to Thanksgiving."

 

Bucky blinks, staring at his parents. Thanksgiving. _Thanksgiving._ He'd forgotten. It's Monday and Thanksgiving is on Thursday. They're meant to meet up with the rest of the family for a big meal, and Steve had been invited, and he wanted to prep Steve and figure out how to keep his family chill about it and--

 

He puts Babushka down and gets up out of his chair, apprehension building. Bucky knows he hasn't exactly been keeping up with the days, and it's not his fault, but it doesn't make the situation any less stressful. Thanksgiving is a pretty big deal for the Barnes clan, and to forget it's coming up...

 

Bucky grasps the counter for balance and purchase, breathing in and counting to five, and breathing out again. And again. His parents watch anxiously, but they let Bucky do his breathing exercises on his own. It takes maybe thirty, forty seconds to stop the rising alarm, but it feels like an hour.

 

Catching his father's eye, George is unflappable and calm, waving him down.

 

"There's no need for concern, James," George says steadily, and his demeanour cools Bucky significantly. "As you know, we were planning on joining the extended family at your aunt and uncle's house. I was talking to your uncle this morning, and explained a little of what the last week and a half has been like, and we've had a few ideas."

 

Bucky's uncle -- George's older brother -- was also in the Army once upon a time. If his situation had to be explained to anyone, Bucky's glad it's Alan.

 

"What did you decide?" he asks tentatively.

 

"Nothing's decided yet, Bucky," Winifred starts, "but what we'd discussed is maybe doing a smaller, private Thanksgiving celebration here, giving the big family gathering a miss this time. Your cousins _can_ get pretty rowdy when they're all together."

 

"Mom, I know you guys were looking forward to seeing--"

 

Winnie hushes him with a simple hand gesture. "The most important thing to us is that you feel safe and happy. And before you suggest it, no, we're not going to go and leaving you behind."

 

Which is just what he had been about to say. Bucky sits back down in his seat heavily.

 

"What your mother's thinking, is we have your sisters, Nick, the kids, and Steve, over for dinner."

 

Bucky chews on his bottom lip. If he's being honest, the idea of his relatively small immediate family all together on the one day is taxing enough, let alone all the other Barneses and associated in-laws and children. Being in someone else's house, not being able to up and leave without scrutiny if needed, not having to hear explanations or catch whispers of why he's being the way that he is again and again. It's mildly humiliating.

 

His family home definitely has way more pros than cons. And as an added bonus, it still gives Steve a family Thanksgiving, too. They haven't discussed it more than in passing, but after the success of the family dinner, Steve's been keen to integrate more.

 

"What about the girls, they don't mind?"

 

"Everyone's on the same page, James. We all want to spend the holiday with you, but don't want you to feel as though you're pushing yourself too hard for our sakes."

 

And Bucky knows that it would be too much. George and Winifred are silent as they watch him, waiting for an answer. Their unending patience and love is a source of constant strength for him, and Bucky can't be thankful enough for their presence in his life. On the subject of Thanksgiving, he knows what Benjamin or Denise would say, and he knows what he'd recommend to someone else.

 

_Don't force it. If it doesn't feel right, don't do it._

 

"Can I let you know?" Bucky asks, licking his lips.

 

"Of course, darling. Ultimately, the decision on what you want to do is yours. But it would help me to know soon, so I know how much I'm cooking."

 

Bucky nods and gets up from the table. He pauses before he leaves, stopping long enough to wrap a loose arm around his mother's shoulders and kiss her on the head. Bucky feels his father pat him kindly on the shoulder as he leaves.

 

Taking himself upstairs, Bucky goes straight to his room to sit on his bed, back resting against the headboard.

 

He pulls his phone out and toys with it for a few moments, before finding Steve's number and calling.

 

It rings four times before the call connects. "Bucky?"

 

Steve sounds as though he's trying very hard to be chill, and that makes Bucky smile in spite of himself. "Hey, Steve."

 

There's a pause, and then Steve's carefully measured voice is absolutely ruined by the unabashed hope soaking it. "I'm really glad you called, it's so good to hear from you."

 

"Yeah, well..." Bucky pauses, chewing on his thumbnail, "I thought you might forget what I sound like, otherwise."

 

"That is an impossibility," Steve argues resolutely.

 

"So..." Bucky says, picking at a few loose threads on his blanket. He's not happy with launching into the reason for his call immediately, which means he's stuck with small talk.

 

Small talk sucks.

 

"What've you been doing?" Bucky decides on, even though it's the barest, most ordinary thing he can say.

 

"Keeping busy, mostly?" Steve answers promptly. "Helped the police round up the guys from--" he stalls for a moment, before pushing on, "--from the bridge that managed to get away. They're locked up and getting interrogated."

 

"It's okay, Steve," Bucky admits, and even as the words leave his mouth, he knows it's the God's-honest truth. "You're not going to-- it's okay for me to know that."

 

"Okay," Steve says, exhaling softly. "Also just... taking lots of walks. Drawing some. I visited..." He stops for a moment, as though gathering his words. "I visited my local VA, talked to one of the counsellors."

 

Bucky sits up a little straighter on his bed. "Yeah? Are you... going to start seeing someone?"

 

"No-- yes-- Maybe? I haven't decided yet," Steve vacillates. "But the people were nice."

 

"That's good," Bucky remarks softly, "that's real good. We don't both need broken brains, right?"

 

They pause there, and it's quiet enough for Bucky to hear something smash and a feminine voice curse over the line.

 

"Steve?" he asks.

 

"It's okay," Steve says, presumably to the smasher of breakables, "can't be as steady as your brother, right?"

 

Whoever it is takes offense to the comparison, and Steve just chuckles warmly. Bucky feels a little intrusive. "I'm sorry I didn't check before I called. If you're busy, I can--"

 

"It's Abigail, Bucky," Steve reassures him.

 

Bucky frowns. He doesn't ever remember Steve mentioning knowing an Abigail. Maybe it's someone from SHIELD? Someone from their local haunts? Bucky feels like he'd remember the name. You know, because of the familial connection.

 

"Abigail... She the barista from the place near your house?"

 

There's a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. "No," Steve says slowly, a bit of confusion entering his voice. "Abigail Barnes."

 

He hears a voice faintly on Steve's end again, and this time he recognises her.

 

"Abi?" Bucky can't help but spit out, mildly incredulously. " _My_ sister Abi?"

 

"You can talk to her if you like?" Steve says. "I can put you on speaker--"

 

"No, no, that's okay," Bucky cuts in. He loves Abi without question, but her brand of enthusiasm is liable to derail the conversation. It's already a little bit confusing and exhausting, and he hasn't even gotten to the reason he's phoned yet.

 

"Okay," Steve answers mildly. "She's part of the other thing I've been doing in my spare time."

 

Oh, if Bucky were a paranoid person, he could _really_ take that the wrong way.

 

"She's helping me set up that Instagram account," Steve continues, and Bucky nods in understanding. "Pepper got the approvals, and we've been discussing content and pictures, et cetera."

 

Bucky pulls his knees up to his chest, leaning his chin on them. "Did you think of a name already?"

 

"Yeah... actually, Abi helped a lot. I wasn't sure what to pick, and there were a lot already taken, but she suggested 'Steve from Brooklyn'. I liked it."

 

Bucky gives a soft smile. "Simple. Understated."

 

"You like it?" he queries.

 

"I do." It reminds Bucky a lot of how Steve originally presented himself on Tinder all those months ago, and it makes Bucky feel a little warm inside.

 

There's a pause in the conversation, but it's not awkward, just quiet. Steve knows he wants to say something, and he's giving Bucky the chance to do it.

 

So he might as well.

 

"Thanksgiving's in a few days," he blurts out, terribly unsubtle.

 

"I know," Steve replies gently. "I wasn't sure you were keeping up with the days or not."

 

"I wasn't," Bucky admits, "Mom reminded me today, and I was a bit thrown."

 

"Did she tell you what they want to do?"

 

"I think the idea was to have a family dinner like the last one, if you're amenable?" Steve responds.

 

Bucky sighs. "You were looking forward to the family thing, though."

 

"I'll _still_ get the family thing if you do it at home," Steve insists. "Besides, there's always Christmas, right? It'll give us a chance to figure out how to do the family reveal. We hadn't actually gotten around to discussing that."

 

Bucky makes a non-committal sound into the phone. Steve makes a very salient point. The next family holiday is just over a month away, surely he'll be in a better way by then. It'll give them plenty of time to actively plan about how to handle the Steve situation... and it would be nice to still celebrate Thanksgiving, but not feel like he was on display for the majority of his loved ones.

 

"What do you think you'd like to do?" Steve asks presently, voice soft.

 

"I think," Bucky begins, "we should have dinner at mom and dad's."

 

"I'm glad," Steve says, doing his best to temper the joy in his voice. He can't quite manage it, and Bucky rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

 

"Okay, well... I'll let them know, then," Bucky says awkwardly. It's been lovely to talk to Steve, but the subject matter has drained him, he needs to recharge.

 

"Sounds good. Tell me if I need to bring anything, or do anything, yeah?"

 

"All right."

 

" _Love you, Bucky!_ " he hears Abi yell in the background.

 

"Thanks, Abi," Bucky huffs out a small laugh.

 

Steve pauses for a moment. "I'm really glad you called, Buck."

 

"Me too," Bucky replies, voice matching Steve's soft cadence. "I'll... see you Thursday?"

 

"Wouldn't miss it. Your mom said there'd be pie."

 

"And that's the most important reason to come, huh?" Bucky asks.

 

"No," Steve says simply, "A delicious reason, but not the most important." He pauses for dramatic effect. "You also have a _cat._ "

 

A warmth develops in the pit of Bucky's stomach. "Asshole. Hanging up now," he warns.

 

"Okay. Can I write you tomorrow?"

 

The warmth ticks up a few degrees. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

 

"If you get the chance, check out my first Instagram post," Steve says.

 

They say their goodbyes. Bucky has dinner quietly, balancing his plate on his knee in front of the tv with Gracie and Bushka, but he somehow can't keep his mind on the movie they're watching.

 

***  
  
Steve's first photo is of a thick book sitting on his bedside. It's entitled _The Great Depression: America in the 1930s_ , and captioned "Doing a little light reading. #thegreatdepression #imprettyold #quillandpapyrusready"

 

There are a few extra books on the bedside that both he and Steve had been reading, most likely placed there by Abi. The composition is really super simple, but there are probably too many filters on there.

 

It's got over two thousand likes already.

 

***  
  
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Bucky gets himself up and dressed, borrows his mom's car and drives to work. Before the holiday, the staff usually take the opportunity to catch up on paperwork and get all their holiday programming up to speed, so there shouldn't be too many people around the office.

 

Bucky opens the door gingerly to see Vanessa at the filing cabinets. She makes a happy exclamation when she sees him, and runs up to give him a hug. It's unexpected, but it's nice. Soon everyone in the office knows he's there. He greets and shakes hands, before asking about Denise. Vanessa points down the hall to her office.

 

Before he heads down, Bucky makes a brief stop at his desk to check everything's in order. It's all as he left it, save for a small pile of cards, drawings and paintings. He glances at the offerings briefly, a small smile on his face, before making his way to Denise's office.

 

Denise looks up from her desk, to beam a smile at him when he knocks softly on the doorframe. "Bucky," she greets warmly, rising to give him a hug.

 

They sit together on her little sofa and talk. Bucky catches her up on what he's been up to; the outings with his niece and nephew, talking to Steve, the plans for Thanksgiving... Dee nods her way through, and is supportive of everything.

 

"The kids have been asking about you," she informs him, "especially Tyler and Jacob, if you can believe it. They wanted to do something for you to make you feel better, so everyone's making cards and drawing pictures."

 

"I saw some of them," Bucky nods shallowly, touched the kids are thinking of him. He misses them a fair bit. "I could come in after Thanksgiving, maybe? During the Prospect Park picnic?"

 

"If you're up to it, that'd be a perfect opportunity." Denise sits up straighter, and moves one hand from where it rests on the back of the sofa, to her lap with the other one; classic work posture. "Also while we're on the topic, but not necessarily related to this, have you spoken to Steve yet about making an appearance as well? I think it would do some of the kids the world of good to touch base with him, to know that their hero is real, and he's okay, too."

 

Bucky knows Steve would be more than keen to meet the kids and catch up with them. "I haven't yet, but maybe... maybe if he's free, he could come to the picnic as well?"

 

"That would definitely be a good time, if it worked out. It will be just the kids and counsellors, maybe a few extra guardians. No extended families."

 

"Okay. I'll ah... ask him about it tomorrow."

 

Denise asks him about Thanksgiving, and Bucky explains they're having a quieter than initially planned celebration. She approves and that makes Bucky more confident in his decision. He doesn't need her blessing, but it's nice to have it.

 

They chat for another few minutes before Bucky rises and says his goodbyes, promising to call Denise back as soon as Thanksgiving is over to talk about the picnic.

 

The night before the holiday, he spends in the kitchen with Grace, laying strips of pastry in a latticework design on top of pie, and slipping snacks to Babushka. She mewls and leaves tiny floury footprints on the floor, making them both snicker. It's a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noootes. Oh god I always have notes. 
> 
> * Bucky and Steve continue to respond to their PTSD uniquely to one another. I think they're going to be able to figure out how to help each other more and more as time goes on. 
> 
> * Until then, Bucky is in such a great environment with his parents. They've done this before, and they know what to do. Although it's stifling at times for Bucky to be home, it really is the best place for him to be right now.
> 
> * I know some of you might not be digging the fact that Steve left, but it really was for the best. Bucky can't spend time worrying about what his state is doing to Steve, it's only setting his own recovery back. 
> 
> * Steve needs to practice some self-care! He needs to sleep, he needs to reflect, and I think that self-reflection is coming out in the revelation that Steve actually took it upon himself to see someone at the VA, and investigate his own healing. Considering it's been a point that he's sort of swept under the rug, this is a really good thing . 
> 
> * Bucky didn't spend a lot of his first recovery around his sisters, it's hard to be vulnerable in front of the people he's been spending his life protecting and being the strong one for. 
> 
> * Bucky's still working his way back into physical contact. But he finally gets a sitdown with his sponsor, Benjamin! It's hard, but it helps a lot. 
> 
> * I have actually taken a few of George Barnes' cues from my own dad. Write what you know, right? My dad is loving and caring and protective, but he's not overly demonstrative. When it comes to my name... everyone that's known me for longer than 5 mins calls me by my nickname. Everyone I meet, all my friends, my family. Except him. He has never used the shortened version of my name. Ever. He will always, ALWAYS use my full given name. He's the only one that can do it that makes me feel like I've not just gotten into trouble. XD 
> 
> * Steve finally got an instagram :D And of course, his first post is a callback to his conversations with Bucky. Because of course! 
> 
> * He got a lot of likes quickly. I feel like somehow a website realised Steve got instagram and did one of those clickbait articles that gets passed around. Steve just shrugs. 
> 
> * to that point.... I er... actually MADE his account? I thought it could be something really fun to do. I have definite ideas about the sorts of things that Steve posts, and I thought it could be fun. Of course the posting times aren't going to match up (november last yr vs now) but you guys aren't going to worry too much about that, right?  
> I'd love for you to follow the account if you want to see what Steve gets up to. It'd be nice. He's got 0 followers right now. Show the cap some loooove <3 And if you want to be notified when Steve posts a new pic, you know what to do!  
> [Steve from Brooklyn](https://www.instagram.com/stevefrombrooklyn/). 
> 
> * Bucky's getting there. It's a slow road, but he's on it, and he's taking those all-important steps. 
> 
>  
> 
> That's all I can think of to say. Once again, thank you SO much. To everyone who leaves kudos and comments and subscribes, (of which there are over 1000, wtf), thank you. I get so excited when I post a new chapter, and each and every notification I get makes my day. If you had the time to let me know what you thought of Bucky and Steve's continuing journey, I'd love to hear from you. <3


	18. Dating (week 17)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One From Steve's Point Of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the 1st of July rolls around and I go 'shitfuckshit. Steve's birthday is in 4 days... can I pump out something in time to celebrate?' and my brain gets all sarcastic and goes 'I don't know; CAN you?' and then Barney Stinson said 'challenge accepted!' and well, here we are. 
> 
> This has been really quickly written, so apologies if there's a multitude of errors. I hope not. Also, if you've ever doubted how much of a rockstar my Sarah is, she proofed this twice... whilst on vacation in Disneyland. She's fucking amazeballs. Thank you <3 <3 <3 
> 
> So... In honour of Steve's birthday, may I present to you a short interlude. Happy birthday, Steeb! 
> 
> Also..
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [bald eagle screeches in distance]

**The One From Steve's Point Of View**

**_Location: Brooklyn Heights / Harlem_ **

 

Thanksgiving day starts early for Steve. He wakes up at five, changes, and is out the door ten minutes later on a run. He ends up running for about an hour, but then spends a further thirty minutes walking through the streets, hands in the pockets of his light jacket, taking in the surroundings.

 

This holiday isn't like Christmas. There aren't presents to incentivise kids to get up early... no children on the street with new bikes and skateboards and toys... It's quiet. Peaceful. Steve uses his walking time to embrace the calm.

 

He stops at a little coffee stand a few blocks out from his block and buys a cup, as well as a bottle of water. The warmth of the dark liquid is nice in November's brisk air, and he enjoys the feeling.

 

It's Thanksgiving and he's going to see Bucky soon.

 

His steps slow involuntarily at that thought, but his brain catches up moments later, and kicks him back into gear. Steve has stuff to _do,_ after all.

 

Steve gets home and heads straight for a hot shower, leaving the clothes he'd chosen for the day on his bed.

 

The last two weeks since Veterans Day have been eventful. The fallout from the financial district attack has been professional and personal. In the first few days, he worked closely with the police to track down anyone who initially evaded capture. Steve's not necessarily proud, but nor is he sorry to admit that he made sure the three armed men who traumatised Bucky and his kids get taken into SHIELD's custody, not the police's.

 

They didn't enjoy the experience.

 

Any spare minute not working with the authorities or his teammates has gone into spending time with Bucky, or the Barnes family. Watching the man he knows to be so confident and self-assured draw in and doubt himself, it was painful. But Steve did whatever he could to help; he helped in the kitchen and took out the trash and sat in silence when Bucky couldn't stand the sound of anyone else's voice...

 

And then... and then, he left.

 

Steve fights for people, it's what he does. He helps in any way he can. To feel like he was doing the opposite hurt, deep down in his heart. It feels like one of the hardest things he thinks he's ever done, to walk away.

 

But as Sam has been reminding him, it's not as though he abandoned Bucky, just gave him the space he needed.

 

So he left, but he's been in contact with Winifred, and Rebecca and Abigail on an almost daily basis. Without betraying Bucky's privacy, they keep him updated on what's going on, and also ask about _him._ They don't make him feel like an outsider, an interloper. They try to involve him in whatever capacity he's able.

 

And then there's actual contact with Bucky.

 

It's sometimes brief, and Steve is always left wanting more... but it's good. Bucky is more open via text, more forthcoming about his struggles when he doesn't have to be face-to-face.

 

Steve dresses and combs his hair neatly, before jumping into another borrowed Stark vehicle. He begins the drive to Sam's mother's place in Harlem, his mind still working furiously.

 

Bucky's struggles have put Steve's situation into his own personal spotlight. With nothing but time to reflect, he's ended up spending much of it thinking about how he deals -- or _not_ deals, as the case may be -- with his own shit.

 

He can't help but think of their weekend away, and how he only talked to Bucky because he was essentially caught out. In contrast, Bucky, difficult as it may be, talks to him. Even if it's only via text and not in person, he does it. Even if it takes a little time to open up, he does it.

 

Steve also finds himself thinking a lot about how Bucky helped him then, too. How he was able to figure out what Steve needed, and really _help_ him.

 

He thinks about how he felt better afterwards. About how he didn't know he _could_ feel that good after an anxiety attack. And it wasn't because of the sex, it was because of the intimacy, the comfort and trust freely given.

 

More than anything, Steve wants to be able to give the same to Bucky, but that probably can't happen if he keeps avoiding the issues.

 

It comes to a head one night alone in his apartment. When Steve wakes up sweating, with a shout, he realises he doesn't have anyone to talk to. He can't call Bucky with this and risk his boyfriend's recovery, and it's not fair to call Sam; he's not Sam's patient.

 

He goes for a walk at two am, and later that day, takes a trip to the Veterans' Affairs in lower Manhattan. Steve ends up speaking to an older man by the name of Ryan, who served in Vietnam.

 

Ryan is different from Laura, his former counsellor, in DC. For one, Laura never served. She was a lovely person, bright and enthusiastic and compassionate, but she could just never wrap her head around some of the things that Steve attempted to talk to her about. So without consciously realising, he stopped trying.

 

Ryan gets it, however, on a purely innate level. It's something no amount of classes and training can instil in a person. Steve immediately feels like he's speaking to someone who understands more.

 

They don't have a formal session, just a casual chat, but Ryan leaves his mark on Steve. It's definitely something to consider for the future.

 

Talking to Ryan, and Sam, and especially Bucky, made Steve realise something. He'd been holding himself to a crazy double standard of strength and accountability.

 

He had been thinking himself weaker for needing to speak to someone, yet praised the strength in Bucky to be able to seek help when needed. It didn't make sense, it doesn't make sense.

 

Steve finds a parking spot on the street close to Sam's mother's place. He takes one of two Tupperware dishes out of a bag in the back seat and jogs up the stairs at the front stoop to knock on the door.

 

A few moments after he knocks, Sam opens it with a wide grin.

 

"Steve!" he exclaims. "Come on, bring it on in." Sam pulls Steve into a hug, before moving away from the door to allow him entry. Steve grins and steps inside the entry, taking in the familiar sights of the Wilson family home.

 

"Samuel, is that Steven?" a voice calls from the depths of the house.

 

"It's me, Mrs Wilson," Steve calls back brightly.

 

"Well, get your butt into the kitchen and say 'hello' to me!"

 

Sam shrugs, and Steve chuckles. "This is how she talks to you when she _likes_ you," Sam intones, and Steve laughs a little louder.

 

He follows Sam into the kitchen, to see Mrs Wilson, and Sam's older sister busy at work. They both wear aprons and are hard at work preparing food.

 

Steve looks around curiously. When he's been here in the last few years, the house has been a hive of activity, of laughter and noise. "Where is everyone else? The kids? Martin?" he queries.

 

"What, I'm not enough for you, huh?" Mrs Wilson teases, depositing a tray of yams on the bench, and putting a hand on her hip.

 

"Well, I can't very well monopolise your time," Steve argues gently, "I don't want to appear selfish."

 

Mrs Wilson scoffs, waving her hand flippantly in his direction.

 

Rhonda, Sam's sister, rolls her eyes heavenwards, and approaches Steve to peck him on the cheek. "Happy Thanksgiving," she says warmly. "Martin took the kids to the park to burn off a little excess energy so they're not underfoot whilst mom and I finish up. The rest of the family will arrive somewhere around eleven; you're a little earlier than usual."

 

Mrs Wilson takes off her apron, adjusts her glasses, and shuffles over to Steve. She takes the tray of mashed potatoes out of his hands appreciatively and passes it to Rhonda, before motioning him down. Steve bends over, and Sam's mom puts her hands on his cheeks, kissing him.

 

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs Wilson," he wishes her, and she pats his cheek fondly.

 

"We're going to miss you today, Steven," she sighs, turning back to the kitchen.

 

"I'm sorry," he says remorsefully, "but I'll be over to visit again soon," Steve promises. Ever since he's known Sam, he's been invited to his mother's place every holiday. The past two Thanksgivings have been spent in this house, with its warmth and laughter and friendship.

 

Prior to his standing Wilson family invitation, he had volunteered for different charitable causes. While nice at the time, he always ended the day feeling a little lonely. The times spent with Sam's family after that greatly improved his holiday situation. The Wilsons are a rollicking, hilarious, welcoming group of people that have always made him feel at home.

 

Mrs Wilson dismisses his regret with a wave of her hand. "Don't apologise, it's not needed," she tells him in a no-nonsense tone. "Samuel tells me you're spending the day with your young man."

 

"I am, yes." And _that_ is worth smiling for.

 

"Good," she declares, shuffling back into the kitchen. "This holiday is for family. As long as you have one to go to, that's the most important thing."

 

Steve's smile stays put as Sam places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

 

"And that you made mashed potato," she adds.

 

Steve laughs. "I'd never forget."

 

"Steve, would you like a cup of coffee?" Rhonda asks from the kitchen.

 

He looks at his watch and frowns slightly. "I'd love one, but I need to get going. I have more mashed potato sitting in the car."

 

"Young people, always in a rush," Mrs Wilson tsks, and Steve loves beyond the telling of it that she treats him like a young man.

 

"I'll walk you out," Sam offers.

 

"I would like to meet this young man at some stage, Steven," Mrs Wilson shouts after him, "I need to give my approval."

 

"No, you don't, Ma," Sam objects at the same time Steve says "Yes, ma'am."

 

"No, I suppose not," Mrs Wilson says with a put-upon sigh. Sam rolls his eyes, but Steve really doesn't mind. He wouldn't knock back the approval of a mother figure like her. "But it would be nice," Mrs Wilson continues. "What's his name, anyway?"

 

"His name is James," Steve supplies with a gentle smile, "and I would love to bring him over one day."

 

"Well, you tell me when," she orders, tying her apron back on, "and I will take care of the food."

 

Steve's stomach grumbles at the thought, and Sam laughs. "I look forward to introducing the two of you."

 

"You also look forward to introducing your stomach to her fried chicken," Sam observes.

 

"Speaking of which," Mrs Wilson pokes into the fridge and pulls out a container of said famous friend chicken. She beckons Steve over and hands it to him. "Trade for a trade." Once he's got the chicken, she shoos him away.

"Go on, then, don't be late. Don't keep him waiting."

 

"Bye, Steve," Rhonda waves.

 

Sam rests his hand on Steve's shoulder as they walk to the door. "Hey, sorry about Ma. Don't feel pressured to bring Bucky around if you don't want to."

 

Steve shakes his head vehemently. "Oh, that's fine. I'd actually really _like_ to bring him sometime. When... he's feeling better. I think they'd get along so well."

 

Sam nods in agreement for a few moments, then takes the subject opening. "How's he doing, anyway?" he inquires softly.

 

"Okay, I think?" Steve replies, his voice rising at the end. "His mom says he's been meeting with his VA counsellor, and his workmates... Bucky told me he's also keeping busy with his niece and nephew."

 

"Good, good," Sam agrees, "that all sounds healthy." He sighs deeply. "Recovery's a process. He's not gonna bounce back overnight, and there might be more than one setback before it's through, but he's taking steps in the right direction."

 

He observes Steve for a moment, and Steve's sure Sam can read the pining on his face as well as he could read words from a book. "How are _you_ doing?" he presses, dark eyes penetrating.

 

Steve is about to say he's fine, but he knows he's not. And maybe it's time to start being a little more open. Sam is trustworthy, it won't hurt him to be honest.

 

His shoulders slump a little. "Plodding along? It's been hard... feeling like I'm not helping." Sam stands up straighter and inhales as though to interject. "I know, I _know_ that's not true," he says before Sam can, "but it's hard not having a bad guy to fight to make it all better, you know?"

 

"I know," Sam replies softly.

 

Steve shuffles from foot to foot. "Abi -- that's one of Bucky's sisters -- has been great, though. And like I said, his mom sends me updates. Bucky's also been pretty consistently in contact, too."

 

"What do you guys talk about?"

 

"Anything, really. Sometimes just the weather, or what's been on tv. Sometimes he'll tell me when something's hard, and I do my best to help. It's... good. Hard, but good. I want--" he nods his head shallowly. "I want to be strong for him."

 

"That's a great goal," Sam says. "Just know that it's okay if you're struggling, too. PTSD is... well, it's a bitch. And if everyone leans on everyone else, we're all supported."

 

Steve nods, thinking of Ryan, and the idea of opening up to an understanding professional. He thinks of Sam, who has been through a lot of this and, like Ryan, is able to help people on the other side. He thinks of Bucky, who he considers nothing short of fearless.

 

 _Bucky_.

 

He aches to see Bucky hale and hearty again. Because if anyone deserves that, it's him. Dedicated and strong and competent. Unwaveringly loyal, fiercely protective, adorable curmudgeon, Bucky Barnes.

 

Steve feels a growing warmth low in his belly.

 

"Steve?" Sam's voice cuts in, and Steve shakes himself out of his thoughts.

 

"What? Sorry, sorry," he apologises. "Just thinking."

 

"Oh yeah?" Sam asks, a small smile curling his lips, "about what?"

 

It's amazing how simply the answer pops into his brain. Further to that, it's amazing how easily it travels from his brain to his mouth, in next to no time at all. No filter, no pretence.

 

"I love him, Sam," Steve says slowly, deliberately. It doesn't seem odd to say it. It doesn't _feel_ odd to say it, or think it. It just seems... right.

 

Sam's face opens out into a large grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, all right," he laughs good-naturedly, squeezing Steve's shoulder. "Congratulations."

 

Steve lets out a nervous little laugh. "Is that okay?"

 

"Does it _feel_ okay?" Sam counters.

 

"It feels..." Steve thinks about it, about how he feels when Bucky smiles at him. "It feels incredible," he answers truthfully.

 

"Then it's okay," Sam says.

 

Steve's full of nervous energy. Now that he's had this thought, all he wants to do is go to Bucky. But.

 

But.

 

It doesn't yet feel like a strong emotion, capable of withstanding anything. It feels small, and delicate and new, like a sapling growing from fresh earth that he doesn't want to accidentally tread on and destroy.

 

"Should I tell him? I mean, should I tell him _now?_ " Steve's eyes flick left and right as though searching. "I don't want to... I don't know. He's not himself right now, I wouldn't want him to... I don't know... think I'm pitying him, or putting pressure on him to say it back or anything."

 

Sam's smile dims and he nods his head. "That's something you're going to have to use your best judgment on. It might help his recovery, it might set him back. It might do nothing at all. Out of the two of us, you know him best. I trust that you'll be able to make the right call."

 

Steve nods thoughtfully, taking a slow, deep breath. Sam's right, he'll just have to feel it out.

 

"My advice, though, is go for it when the time is right," Sam says. "You guys seem crazy about each other. Be honest and share the love, it'll do you both the world of good."

Steve smiles gently at Sam, and pulls him into a one-armed hug. "Thank you," he says, holding Sam tight.

 

"No problem," Sam says, slapping Steve a few times between the shoulder blades. "You should go, though. You've got to see a man about a thing."

 

Steve's smile turns into a grin.

 

They say their goodbyes, and Steve jumps back into his car, brimming with nervous energy. He hums to the radio, and drums his hands on the steering wheel.

 

Steve exhales a jet of air, sorting through what has just transpired. The adrenalin rush of admitting he's in love isn't wearing off, despite his uncertainty about what to do about it.

 

It's been a really long time since he felt anything close to this. It's grounding. It's euphoric. It's terrifying. It's wonderful.

 

But he's a tactician, and he needs a strategy. Sure, sometimes the tactical move is to say 'to hell with the strategy' and do something different, but it doesn't stop it being there first. Steve breathes deeply and thinks about what Sam has advised.

 

Use his judgment. Wait until the time is right, but when it _is_ , don't delay. It's sound advice, a solid course of action he can get behind.

 

It doesn't matter how much uncertainty bubbles away under the surface, even if he's sure of only one thing, it's Bucky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the fucking notes.
> 
> * One of the reasons I hate switching POVs in stories is that I don't want to disrupt the mental and emotional flow of the first character. This is why this fic doesn't switch around. 
> 
> * But i reaallly wanted to do something special for Steve's B'day. I considered leaving it out of the main body of the fic, and kept it as a side story, but realised next to no-one would probably see it. Most readers are subscribed to the story, rather than the series or me as an author, so you'd probably miss it. 
> 
> * Because it was done so quickly, I worry that I haven't had enough time to make certain that this chapter sounds different to Bucky. It's something that will keep me up at night. I am hoping this comes across as distinct from Bucky, but I worry :/ THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LET YOUR BRAIN DARE YOU INTO WRITING A CHAPTER IN 4 DAYS. 
> 
> * OKAY, so to the actual fic. It was fun letting you guys see what Steve's going through. Often some of his more inner workings only come out in the notes as this is a Bucky-limited piece. 
> 
> * Steve really did take grim pleasure from getting the baddies into SHIELD custody. 
> 
> * This time apart from Bucky has been a bit hard for him, but it's also allowed him to really consider what he wants his life to be like, in terms of relationships and healing. It's not that he doesn't want to improve, it's just that he really had no concept of how to go about it, despite the available resources. With things like Laura... he obviously didn't gel with her fully as a counsellor... he didn't realise he COULD ask for someone else. He just figured, this is what it's like. This is how it's meant to be. NO, Steve. It doesn't have to be. 
> 
> * Now, finally, he's getting to the point where he is consciously wanting to get better, and looking for the steps he needs to take to make it happen. Because of Bucky, for Bucky. And a little for himself :) 
> 
> * Sam's family is amazing to Steve. They're cooler than a lot of people he meets because they had to get used to Sam being first, a crazy air force man, and then falling in with the Avengers. After all those things, Sam being buddies with Captain America just didn't seem all that surprising. They're pretty chill about the whole thing. 
> 
> * Steve is genuinely sorry that he won't be spending the day with the Wilsons. But it was always a no-brainer, spending time with The Barnes family. 
> 
> * I made up Sam's family stuff. This fic bases a lot on what's gone on in the MCU rather than the comics, and since no mention of any family has been made in the MCU, i had license to play. 
> 
> * Sam's mum has remarkably clear vision when it comes to Steve. The family (and everyone, really) gives him shit about Steve being older than her, but she knows. She's lived more than twice what Steve has, and she doesn't let him forget it. Steve loves that. 
> 
> * Sam doesn't want his mum making demands of Steve, like she has to have approval over Bucky. But Steve totally wouldn't mind! He's got no parental figures to introduce to Bucky in return, save for her. It's not quite the same as if he were introducing Bucky to his own mother, of course, but he would love the opportunity to show Bucky off to someone he loves and respects like that. 
> 
> * Also remember, mums are his jam. 
> 
> * Btw, Bucky would be fine meeting Mrs Wilson. He would figure out pretty quickly how much her opinion means to Steve and charm her accordingly. 
> 
> * Steve's not worried about his revelation that he loves Bucky. He's not worried about whether Bucky loves him back, either. He's worried that saying so now, at this delicate juncture, might fuck up Bucky's recovery. Because he's a thoughtful dude. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'm approx 1/3 to 1/2 done on the next chapter, which leads directly on from this, and returns to Bucky's pov. I hope it won't take too long to complete and post. 
> 
> Your support, as always, is greatly appreciated. Thank you for the comments and the kudos! If you had any comments with regards to this chapter, I'd love to hear them. If i did well with a character pov change, or if i didn't get it different enough, you can tell me :) 
> 
> See you back here soon, stucky fandom <3
> 
> PS! Omg i can't believe so many of you followed Steve's instagram account. I'm laughing, really. If you want to, check out [Steve from Brooklyn](https://www.instagram.com/stevefrombrooklyn). Content will be posted to align with chapters uploaded. :)


	19. Dating (week 17 - redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was determined to get this out before the end of July, and it happened! Thank you Sarah for betaing once again while you were out of your home state... man, i'm demanding :3 But you're forever awesome and I don't know how you do it. 
> 
> Your responses kill me, guys. Thank you so much for continuing to support this ridiculously long piece of fiction. Forever love.

**_The One With Thanksgiving_ **

****

_Location: Barnes family home_

 

On the day of Thanksgiving, Bucky sleeps in a little. He gets dressed in nice clothes -- not too nice to not be comfortable, but better than sweats and hoodies -- and wanders downstairs.

 

The house is already bustling with activity: Winnie, Rebecca and Abigail are in and around the kitchen, Grace is decorating the dining room and setting the table, George is baby-sitting Robert and Isobel. Nick's absent, having been sent out on a last-minute errand.

 

Bucky follows his nose into the kitchen, where he already smells a bevy of delicious food items. He's met with a chorus of 'good morning's and 'Happy Thanksgiving's as he joins the controlled chaos of the kitchen and its surrounds. There's something wonderfully familiar about the hustle and bustle -- not quite as frenzied as when the entire Barnes clan plus in-laws are running the show -- but it's enough. He's been surrounded by family for the last couple of weeks, but now he's not the reason for the gathering, nor on the receiving end of attention, and that feels good and normal.

 

The warm greetings Bucky receives don't extend to him being allowed to actually _touch_ any of the prepared food, and so he settles for a small bowl of cereal for breakfast. He gets out of the line of fire in the kitchen and goes to sit in the den, idly watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

 

The doorbell rings just as he's finishing his bowl, and with everyone busy, Bucky goes to answer it, assuming it's Nick.

 

He opens the door to find Steve instead, wearing a light jacket and scarf over a fashionable sweater, arms full of bags. Steve's smile grows exponentially as he sees Bucky at the door. Bucky underestimates how much he's missed that stupid, handsome face until it's right there in front of him, and his stomach does a little flip.

 

"Hi," Steve says, breath slightly misting.

 

"Hey, Steve," Bucky says softly, before he realises he needs to move to the side so his boyfriend can enter. Steve brushes past him and Bucky can't help but feel soothed at the familiar presence and smell of him.

 

Bucky closes the door with a quiet 'click', before locking it. When he turns around, Steve is still there, watching him intently. It's an appraising gaze Bucky knows well; trying to glean as much information in the shortest time possible. Maybe a week ago, he would've gotten really pissy, but he can take it in his stride a little more, now. He owes Steve this much.

 

In return, Bucky does the same. The dark circles that had developed under Steve's eyes have all but faded, there's slightly more confidence to his posture, though he's still quite obviously feeling the situation out tentatively. He looks...

 

Fuck it, he looks _good_.

 

"Bucky, who is at the door?" Winnie's voice chimes from the kitchen, breaking the moment.

 

"It's Steve, ma," Bucky answers without losing eye contact, when he can get his voice to work. No sooner are the words out of his mouth, than his mom and three sisters flood into the entry, hugging and kissing the new arrival. Bucky takes a step back and watches the action unfold. He'd almost be jealous if it weren't so entertaining seeing Steve look simultaneously pleased and embarrassed by all the attention.

 

Bucky takes in how they take turns kissing his cheek and hugging him, fussing over his coat and scarf, poking in his bag with good-natured curiosity. They're in such a playful, warm place with him already, a place that usually takes partners months, if not years, to get to. And Steve is unfailingly good to them, all without totally sucking up or coming off as insincere.

 

"Did you make it, Steve?" Becca asks with a smile, holding her hands out expectantly towards him.

 

Steve brightens and digs into the bag he carries, removing a few large containers. "Mashed potatoes are done," he announces. "Mrs Wilson also gave me some of her fried chicken, seeing as I won't be eating with them today."

 

The girls 'ooh' and 'ahh', and relieve him of his containers. Steve takes a moment to hang his coat on the coatrack by the door, before Winifred wraps her arms around his chest in a hug. Bucky watches his boyfriend carefully enfold his mother in those huge arms, dwarfing her.

 

"Thank you, Steve. I'm so glad you were able to join us today. Their loss is our gain."

 

"Mrs Barnes, this is the only place I want to be," Steve responds sincerely, his eyes slipping to Bucky on impulse. Bucky's heart does this thing where it speeds up and slows down at the same time. He's pretty sure that's called an arrhythmia, and that it's not a good thing.

 

Winifred looks between Bucky and Steve, before giving Steve a light slap to the arm. "You have ten minutes, and then I'm putting you to work."

 

"Yes ma'am." Steve flicks _her_ a salute, and it's beyond hilarious to consider the vague idea that Captain America takes orders from his _mom_.

 

"Wisenheimer," Winnie comments without heat, shooing them away.

 

Bucky runs his hands through his newly-cut hair, trying to neaten it a little. One of Steve's hands rubs his forearm in an uncertain gesture. "Should I go say hello to your dad? Or Nick?" he queries.

 

"Nick's out and dad's babysitting, they'll keep," Bucky informs him. He looks around, biting his bottom lip to make a few decisions. "Come with me."

 

"All right," Steve answers, no hesitation at all in his voice. After a thought, Bucky holds out his hand, and Steve takes it immediately.

 

He leads Steve upstairs to his bedroom, where the door is shut. Bucky opens it carefully, Steve following right behind.

 

A pair of bright green eyes glow luminously from underneath Bucky's bed. "Bushka!" Steve says softly, with undeniable excitement when he sees her.

 

Babushka mewls and leaves her hiding place immediately to run to Steve. She doesn't even get the chance to butt her head against him once before she's scooped up in his large grip.

 

"I'll have to keep her in here until dinner," Bucky says, sitting on his bed, back against the headboard. "She's been causing trouble and pulling down decorations."

 

"Bushka..." Steve says in a voice that's remarkably similar to the tone one would use in a PSA.

 

"She also took a dump in one of my dad's work boots. He's not a fan," Bucky informs him.

 

Steve tries valiantly not to laugh. He does pretty well, but can't help the smile on his face. That smile does stupid shit to Bucky's insides.

 

"Babushka, that's what litter boxes are for," Steve lectures sternly. Babushka uses her tiny kitty paws to push stubbornly against Steve's chin. It's a David-and-Goliath battle, only 'Goliath' loses instantly because he starts laughing and petting her again.

 

"You know, you're not necessarily showing her the error of her ways. Feels more like rewarding bad behaviour," Bucky points out.

 

"But she's so _cute_." Steve holds her out, as though trying to convince Bucky. "She deserves to be forgiven forever."

 

A smile ghosts Bucky's face. "So I'll ask you this again when she does the same to your running shoes?"

 

"It would still be adorable and funny," Steve insists, sitting on Bucky's bed, just to the left of his knees.

 

"What about if I did it?" Bucky presses.

 

"Now you're just being weird and disgusting," Steve says, grimacing. It gets a little chuckle out of Bucky.

 

Steve smiles gently at him. "I missed that sound," he admits. "I missed this, too--" Steve gestures back and forth between them. "Sam's not nearly as entertaining as he thinks he is."

 

"Also, he's not as pretty as me," Bucky quips automatically, and Steve nods readily, a smile on his face.

 

"Threw him under the bus there, didn't ya, Steve?"

 

"Look, if he asks me if I think you're prettier than him, I'm going to say you're both attractive in equal-but-different ways... but just between you and me?" Steve drops his voice into a register that Bucky's familiar with, though usually in more intimate circumstances. "It's you."

 

Bucky's mouth is very, _very_ dry.

 

He clears his throat and presses his lips together. Bucky opens his mouth to reply, when he hears both their names being called from downstairs.

 

"Bucky! Steve! Time to work, boys!" Winnie calls out. She's not using her negotiating voice, either.

 

He affects a shallow shrug and drops his feet down to the floor. Steve deposits Bushka on the bed and holds out a hand to Bucky, who only hesitates a moment before taking it.

 

Steve gently pulls him to his feet, eyes the clearest blue Bucky's ever seen in the morning light. "To be continued, hey?" Bucky says with tremulous smile.

 

Steve runs a thumb across Bucky's knuckles. "Of course." He ghosts the gentlest kiss over the back of Bucky's hand, before they exit the bedroom and head downstairs together.

 

When they get to the kitchen, the chaos hasn't abated.

 

"Ah, good," Winnie says when they stand in the doorway. "Steve, you can help Grace chop the vegetables to put in the oven. Bucky, I haven't gotten around to the jello, yet."

 

Steve shoots Bucky a fleeting smile and holds his fist out. Bucky looks at it for a moment, the shade of amusement curving his mouth up, before he bumps the knuckles of his fist against Steve's.

 

Winnie hands Steve an apron, and Becca wolf-whistles as he ties it around his waist, pushing the long sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. It's well-deserved appreciation; with his carefully-brushed hair and collared shirt-sweater-slacks combination, he looks like the clean-cut host of a TV holiday cooking special.

 

Bucky doesn't really have a problem with this.

 

He can't afford to get distracted, however. Jello is serious business.

 

His task allows him to do his own thing, and watch those around him. For so many people being in the kitchen at once, it's remarkable how everyone seems spatially aware enough to dance and weave around one another. There's a steady stream of friendly chatter-white noise, and there's the _smells_. Delicious, amazing smells.

 

Steve and Grace work well together; Steve chopping the vegetables and Grace laying them in trays, drizzling them in olive oil.

 

Bucky gets a little distracted watching Steve, enough that he doesn't pay too much attention to his mother, until she gives him a slap on the back of his hand.

 

"James Barnes, I didn't raise you to use your finger to mix jello!"

 

"You're not my real mom," Bucky quips automatically. Activity in the kitchen grinds to a halt at the sassy remark. Winifred folds her arms across her chest and arches a single, solitary eyebrow.

 

"I _beg_ your pardon?" she queries.

 

"Sorry, mom," Bucky corrects, slightly cowed. He catches Steve giving him a little smirk over his mother's shoulder and flips him off.

 

"That's it," Winifred announces, "the kitchen is no place for shenanigans. If you're feeling playful, go help your father look after your niece and nephew."

 

Bucky hands his jello bowl to Rebecca and slides off the stool. "Bobby appreciates my sense of humour," he grumbles.

 

"Bobby eats sand," Becca says.

 

" _Steve_ appreciates my sense of humour, too," Bucky tries again, leaning against the doorframe.

 

" _Steve_ jumps out of planes without a parachute," Abigail supplies. "What?" she says at Bucky's sour face, "you told me that yourself."

 

Steve lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "There might be a case to be made for my skewed perspective, so..." he trails off.

 

"You're all philistines," Bucky says, pushing himself away from the door. "I'm going to go be an amazing uncle."

 

"Bye, Bucky, we love you!" He hears Rebecca call out as he leaves the kitchen. It makes him smile, just a little.

 

Bucky and his dad keep the kids occupied for the better part of an hour. George puts on Donald Duck cartoons, which have Bobby enraptured, while Bucky plays an elaborate tickle game with Izzy, before taking it upon himself to walk her around the house.

 

It's a little soothing. He tours the different rooms with all the family photos on the walls, talking to her about what was happening when each one was taken. Then, he stops by Rebecca's old bedroom, where the large framed art of the many assorted animals hangs.

 

The art-style is a little old-fashioned, but beautiful, like something out of the children's book _Animalia._ A bevy of different kinds of animals -- mostly African and exotic -- stand together like they're having a formal group photograph taken. It has always a favourite of all the Barnes children when they were growing up; George took turns cradling each of them, starting with Bucky, down this hall to point out the different animals, and discuss what kinds of noises they made. It entertained them all when they were little, and Bucky finds Izzy just as enchanted with his frankly _awful_ mimicry of what a zebra sounds like.

 

As he walks around the house, he can't help but poke his head back into the kitchen to see how everything's going.

 

Winnie is like a commander, directing the troops, even as she puts the finishing touches on the pies that he and Becca made last night. The turkey's already in the oven, which means it must be really close to lunch.

 

Steve is completely engrossed in doing something with his mashed potatoes, a line forming between his brows. Bucky, Izzy on his hip, walks over to him and watches for a while. Eventually, Steve notices his presence and looks up, face moving from concentration to happiness almost immediately.

 

"You make this?" Bucky asks, as Steve adds a tiny bit more milk.

 

"Yeah," he says, frowning slightly. "My mom's recipe. I'm not sure I've done it justice, but... well, points for trying?"

 

"I'm going to eat it," Bucky says loyally, "even if it tastes like garbage."

 

"I'm glad you have such a high opinion of my skills," Steve says dryly.

 

"I have a _very_ high opinion of your other skills," Bucky says, combing a gentle hand through Izzy's hair.

 

"Good to know. Well, I'll make sure you get the garbage-flavoured plate, and everyone else gets the regular stuff. Just to see whether you keep your promise to eat it anyway."

 

Bucky ghosts a smile. "You're a bit of a dick," he tells Steve.

 

" _Language_ around Isobel," Rebecca appears at his side and pokes him none-too-gently in the arm. "I really don't want that to be her first word, Buck."

 

Bucky shifts out of her reach. "Not a chance. Her first word is going to be 'Bucky'. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

 

Izzy gurgles a response.

 

Winifred calls a halt to all cooking in the kitchen, shooing everyone out to get washed up. Bucky helps Becca to put the kids in their respective high chairs with a biscuit on a plate for each, to keep them happy and occupied until the adults have taken their seats.

 

Bucky sits on the side of their long table in between his mother's chair and Steve. The place setting is beautiful, with seasonal fruits, roasted vegetables, Sam's mother's fried chicken, and so many other steaming dishes... the only space left is for the star of the day, but that bird needs a last ten minutes in the oven.

 

The Barnes family tradition dictates before the meal starts, they have a typical Thanksgiving Moment. When Winifred takes her seat, the cheerful, murmured chatter at the table dies down. George clears his throat, and gives a warm smile to his family.

 

"While that magnificent bird is still in the oven for the last few minutes--" Bobby interrupts his grandfather with an excited whoop, and everyone laughs, "--let's pause and reflect on what we're thankful for this year."

 

They take each other's hands and Abi, sitting opposite George, volunteers to go first. They continue going around the table counter-clockwise; to Becca, skipping Izzy who is busy chewing on her own fist, Nick, Grace, George... Bobby is asked what he's most thankful for and promptly replies 'trucks', like it's a ridiculous question. Winnie then says a few heartfelt words, warmth and love steeped in her voice, echoing what much of her family has had to say about family, health, happiness....

 

There's a pause when Bucky realises it's his turn. His family look at him but also _don't_ look at him, like they're consciously not trying to place any pressure on him, just in case he doesn't want to talk.

 

But he's here, with his most-loved people on the planet -- and Babushka, who is sulking in the den -- on a favourite holiday. And he has _so much_ to be thankful for.

 

Bucky gives his mom a fleeting smile, before exhaling softly. Steve squeezes his fingers ever-so-gently in support.

 

"The list is long," he begins stiltedly, "but I'll keep it to the top three for brevity. I am so very thankful for my family, my sometimes-asshole cat--"

 

" _Bucky_ ," Becca admonishes him on his language in front of the kids again, but George seemingly has his son's back.

 

"It's true, though," he says. Presumably, George hasn't forgiven Bushka for her indiscretions concerning his boots.

 

"And... and..." He pauses for a moment, lips curling up at the corners, "location-based social search mobile apps."

 

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. Predictably, Abigail is the first one to understand the significance, laughing and tugging on Steve's other hand cheekily. Everyone else catches up on the joke from there, and a warm laugh is shared at the table. Bucky hazards a glance at Steve, whose cheeks are a little pink, mouth set in a wide smile.

 

"Steve," George says, "would you like to say anything?"

 

"That's a pretty hard act to follow," Steve remarks. "I'm not sure I can say things so well in so few words."

 

"Say as much or as little as you like, dear," Winnie encourages.

 

Steve's eyes drop from making eye contact with anyone, settling somewhere around the bowl of mashed potatoes.

 

"I've never been used to big Thanksgivings. Back when I was growing up, it was just my mom and I... Most holidays were spent with just the two of us. Sometimes, we went to a neighbour's apartment, where there wasn't much, but we could all share. We weren't related, but it felt like family.

 

"Since I woke, I've had five Thanksgivings. They have been strange, and wonderful, but today, _now_ , I feel the closest to what I had when I was young."

 

Steve looks up, and Bucky knows every single pair of eyes in the room is trained on his boyfriend, listening attentively. "I am thankful for many things in my life; my health and my ability to help people... my crazy-but-amazing friends who are brilliant and profoundly genuine in equal measure..." He inclines his body a little more towards Bucky, making shy eye contact. "But most of all, this year I am thankful for the circumstances which have brought Bucky and you all into my life. Thank you for opening your home to me to share this holiday with you. It means more than I can say to be sitting here."

 

He stops there, mouth moving gently, forming words without sound. Bucky watches as it takes Steve a few moments to audibly articulate, his eyes still shyly downcast towards the table.

 

"I-- I tend to gauge my company on a holiday against whether I could picture... my mom with me as well." Steve takes a deep breath that catches just slightly at the end. "I could definitely see her here. And I'm not sure it counts for much, but that's the highest compliment I could ever give anyone."

 

When he finishes talking, there is a quiet snuffling at the table from Winnie, who immediately rises from her chair to throw her arms around Steve's shoulders. She murmurs mom-things into his ear, and he lets go of Abi's hand to hug her back. There's a bittersweet bliss on Steve's face as Winnie hugs him. It must be so nice to get a mom-hug, but at the same time, he must just be reminded of how much he misses his own.  
  
Bucky's fingers tighten around his right hand in support, the knuckles going white as Steve squeezes back. He notices a sheen to Grace's eyes, and Rebecca hastily swiping a knuckle over her cheek.

 

"Damn, Steve," Abigail says, her voice heavy with emotion, "good thing you went last, _nobody_ is topping that.

 

"Oh, and I'm also thankful for Bucky's jerk-cat," Steve adds with a shaky voice once Winifred lets go of him. The heartfelt, serious moment is broken, and the table laughs again.

 

In the midst of the laughter, the oven timer buzzes in the kitchen, and a small whoop goes up in anticipation of turkey. Winnie dashes off to get the bird, and light conversation returns to the table.

 

Bucky turns to Steve, who is looking at him through downcast lashes. He looks exposed, but strong. Bucky tugs on his hand to pull him closer. Steve goes willingly, and Bucky places a soft kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth. Steve turns, pressing his nose gently into Bucky's cheek in a suspiciously cat-like nuzzle.

 

The turkey makes an appearance, and lunch is off to an excellent start.

 

As everyone serves themselves from the dishes, Steve puts a gentle elbow into Bucky's side. Bucky looks at him curiously to find Steve making unblinking eye contact with Nick across the table. Nick's brows are drawn into a frown as he stares back. Bucky's not sure what's going on until a breadstick is pushed into his hands by Steve, still staring Rebecca's husband down.

 

Rather than take the stick fully, Bucky also stares at Nick and breaks it off right out of Steve's hand.

 

Nick scoffs about cheating and an 'illegal assist', Becca shakes her head in mystification and Winifred bemoans the wasting of _completely good breadsticks_.

 

Bucky begins chuckling to himself, amused Steve not only remembered but instigated the bread stick war, and Steve flashes him a warm smile. The only people who seem unamused are Nick, Rebecca and Winifred. Abi rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and Gracie hides her giggles behind her hand. George is interested in his turkey.

 

The food is amazing, and Bucky finds the company exceedingly pleasant. There are lots of laughs around the table, lots of wonderful memories made. Bucky finds himself stopping to watch his surroundings all the time, feeling the love that is palpable in the air, letting it do its job. Letting it help _heal._

 

Steve's now had a few family dinners, but this is the first holiday. There's a marked difference; he _glows_. Bucky catches him looking around the table at the Barneses, as though he's trying to commit everything to memory, to soak in the intangible feeling created in their little bubble of warmth and love.

 

Bucky is happy that he can give Steve this. When Steve's around his Avenger friends, he matches them. His aura, his very presence, is powerful despite not being intentionally put on. Even without a costume, it's like he's wearing armour. Bucky could never mistake him for a regular Joe when he's standing next to Thor, or Natasha.

 

But sitting in amongst Bucky's family... that aura is gone. Steve exudes happiness and normalcy. The unmasked heart of Steve Rogers is on display, and it's dorky, and laughs too loud, and is beautiful.

 

Bucky's so in li- in _love_ with him.

 

He's still getting a little used to that. It's been a long time since it was a relevant statement... but not as foreign to accept as he thought it might be.

 

Bucky's appetite hasn't been brilliant over the last few weeks, but Thanksgiving lunch helps a bit. And pie. Pie is amazing.

 

Towards the end of dessert, however, Bucky finds himself flagging. It's been wonderful to be around everyone, joking and laughing, but he's feeling a little exhausted. Bucky helps his sisters start clearing up after lunch, until they gently take over for him.

 

"I can help," Bucky protests mildly.

 

"You can, but you don't have to," Rebecca says, gently shooing him out of the dining room.

 

Bucky's relieved, to be honest.

 

He finds Steve in the den playing 'Trucks' with Bobby, while also carrying on a conversation with Nick. Bucky leans against the doorframe watching for a little bit. More than ever, Bobby is warming to Steve, tugging on his shirtsleeves chanting 'Steeb, Steeb' insistently whenever Steve's attention is drawn away by the other conversation.

 

Abi sidles up to Bucky by the door. She very gently enters his personal space, nudging him like she used to do as a little girl. Bucky's mouth softens a little, and he raises his arm. Abigail takes the invitation and ducks under so it can rest casually around her shoulders.

 

It's nice to hug his sister like this. His physical gestures are still not perfect, and for someone who enjoys them as much as Bucky normally does, that's tough... but it's becoming easier every day, little by little. To reach out and touch other human beings, touch his _family_ , it's nice to be able to feel the _normalcy_ of the action.

 

"What d'you want to do?" Abi asks unassumingly. Barnes tradition on the matter is pretty open-ended... the parade's long finished, but they do generally hang out together: Sometimes they watch movies together, or play board games, even toss a football around at the park; sometimes they get the neighbourhood kids involved, and sometimes an over-indulgence in Thanksgiving lunch leads to everyone having a nap in the afternoon.

 

"I need a bit of a break," Bucky articulates slowly. It doesn't feel that silly to admit, occasionally he says the exact same words at the large family gatherings, when his younger cousins are getting too intense, or Aunt Joyce starts trying to quiz him about his life.

 

Steve flicks his eyes up to Bucky, arching a brow ever so slightly. Bucky knows he wasn't talking that loud, but Steve seems to have heard him nonetheless.

 

"What about if you take a walk?" Abi suggests lightly. "It's as warm as it's going to get out there right now."

 

Bucky nods shallowly. A walk sounds brilliant. It'd be nice to enjoy the sunshine and crispness in the air, rugged up in a sweater and a scarf... his eyes skate to Steve, who is doing a truly admirable job of looking like he's not listening to their conversation.

 

"Great idea, Abi," Bucky says, standing a bit straighter and gently removing his arm from her shoulders.

 

"You remember I'm the brains of this outfit, right?" she says with a bright smile.

 

"I rarely forget it," he agrees, pressing a brief kiss to her temple. Abigail squeezes his arm, and leaves Bucky to his own thoughts.

 

Bucky watches Bobby make a series of very intense car crash and skid noises while he drives his toy truck into Steve's leg. Steve feigns animated surprise, then pain, much to Bobby's delight and Nick's amusement.

 

Bucky enters the room and approaches his boyfriend and nephew. Crouching down reasonably close, he stops the truck before Bobby can smack it into his shin. "Bucky _trucks_ ," Bobby insists seriously.

 

"Yeah, buddy, I know. Listen, can I--"

 

"Bucky, trucks. _Trucks._ Bucky. Buckyyyyy," Bobby says, unimpressed that Bucky isn't getting with the program. Nick is also unimpressed, but for a different reason.

 

"Robert James Proctor," Nick says in his rarely-used Dad-voice, "that's very rude. I think it's time you had a nap."

 

"Daddy, _trucks_ ," Bobby insists, but Nick is having none of it from his little boy.

 

"That's enough. Grown-ups need a break from trucks--" he stops when Bobby inexplicably yawns "--and so do you. Your truck will still be here after your nap."

 

Bobby throws his arms around his dad's neck and frets a little. Nick throws Bucky a long-suffering look and takes him away, leaving Bucky and Steve alone on the floor of the den.

"Night night, truck," Bobby's little voice announces as Nick exits, and they both can't help but laugh. It's nice, a warm moment.

 

Bucky rocks back on his heels in his crouch, arms wrapped around his knees for balance.

 

"So, are you going to go for a walk?" Steve asks, not even pretending that he couldn't hear what was being said.

 

"I think so," Bucky replies. He watches Steve for some sort of reaction, expecting another question or an offer, but it doesn't come. Steve just returns his gaze with an understanding smile. He doesn't ask for anything further of Bucky; just waits.

 

And because of this, Bucky knows what he should do. What he _wants_ to do.

 

"Wanna come?" he asks, but it's blurted out, not really the smooth question he was hoping to deliver.

 

Steve's expression dissolves from polite empathy to affection and gratitude. "Yeah, I'd really like that."

 

Well, all right, then.

 

Bucky hefts himself to his feet and straightens up. He half-heartedly brushes the wrinkles out of his trousers and watches as Steve rises, as well.

 

On the way to the front door, he catches eyes with Abi in the dining room, and moves his index and middle fingers of one hand in a walking motion. Abigail nods and gives him a thumbs up. At least he won't get in trouble for not telling anyone they're going out.

 

At the coat rack, Steve wraps his scarf around his neck, deciding against another coat. Bucky finds his sunglasses, but then shoots a critical look at Steve.

 

"Did you bring a hat or anything?" Bucky asks. Steve will usually wear a cap and/or sunglasses when out and about, to minimise getting recognised.

 

Steve frowns. "I didn't, actually."

 

"That's okay, you can borrow one of dad's," Bucky says. He reaches to the coat rack to grab a blue hat with a distinct red and white letter 'C' on it.

 

Bucky's boyfriend makes a face. "A Cubs hat? Seriously?" He looks as though Bucky's trying to hand him a bag of human excrement.

 

"Show some respect for this year's champions," Bucky teases.

 

"Congratulations to the Cubs," Steve says, voice dripping with false sincerity. "They've won a World Series in my life time. Of course," he continues, "I was born in 1918, so they can't be all _that_ good..."

 

"I didn't realise the Cubs brought out this much of the asshole in you... it's kinda refreshing."

 

"One good year does not a dynasty make," Steve says seriously.

 

"Can you forbear today?" Bucky asks with a small smile, to Steve's stubborn jut of the chin. "Meanwhile, Gracie brought this hat back from Chicago for my dad, so you can't do anything like purposefully damage it."

 

At the mention of Grace, Steve sobers a little, though he's still reluctant to take it. Bucky waves it at him temptingly. "Come on, it's to stop you getting recognised and photographed so much."

 

Steve finally takes the hat reluctantly. "If I get photographed in this, I will actually have to sell my apartment and go live in a cave," he mutters darkly, even as the corner of his mouth turns up a little.

 

"I'll come visit you," Bucky offers, opening the front door.

 

Oddly enough, that seems to cheer Steve up.

 

They walk down the stoop together. There is a crisp bite to the air, but the sunshine makes it a little better. Steve gives an 'after you' gesture, letting Bucky pick the direction.

 

Bucky heads to the right when they hit the pavement, and he and Steve meander casually along the path. The quality of light is changing, the sunshine is softer now, bringing pleasant warmth. Bucky squints at the sun behind his sunglasses, and Steve flicks him a little smile.

 

The walk is quiet, companionable silence. Steve lets Bucky set the pace, and choose whether he wants to talk or not. Bucky knows he's been a little hyper-vigilant of his surroundings since the incident, so he doesn't care to talk much on the way to their destination. It means he's not distracted from his perusal of the neighbourhood as they walk. Besides, with Steve there, Bucky's instincts automatically tell him he's got backup, in case anything happens. In the familiar environment, with a familiar and capable companion, Bucky finds himself dialling down his tension little by little.

 

After a couple of blocks, they reach a little park. It's the same place he and his sisters used to ride their bikes to and play in when they were younger. In the park there's a playground, with some pretty traditional equipment: Swings and a seesaw, a cargo net wall that leads up to a mini cubby house, slide and monkey bars. It's pretty basic, but back in the eighties and nineties, it was the absolute height of awesome for their little neighbourhood.

 

The park's not completely deserted, but the family playing a friendly game of football are doing so in the flat, grassy space much further away from the playground equipment. Bucky veers towards the swings, Steve just behind his shoulder.

 

Bucky sits on one of the swings, Steve on the other. It's funny seeing Steve try to get the impressive span of his shoulders between the chains. He finally finds a way to sit slightly on an angle, making the swing twirl to the side a little.

 

Pushing the ground with his feet, Bucky starts swinging gently, and runs a hand through his hair. He's still not used to the slightly shorter lengths.

 

"So..." Steve begins, toeing his shoes in the dirt, "anything else new since we last spoke?"

 

Bucky's eyes scan the tree line across the street. "Well... you may've noticed that my hair shrank." He flicks a glance to Steve, who is smiling gently.

 

"I _had_ noticed that, yes," Steve admits.

 

Bucky pulls at the strands, the product in his hair artfully messing it out of its style. "Abi took me to this trendy salon she goes to... apparently _this_ is how all the cool kids look nowadays." He looks at Steve who is watching him, swinging back and forth slowly. "I know you liked it when it's a bit longer on top, but--"

 

"Buck, it's okay," Steve interrupts. "It's your hair, you can have it however you like." He looks at it like he wants to reach out and touch it, but doesn't. Bucky appreciates Steve's thoughtfulness, but at the same time really wishes he'd reached out anyway. "Abi's idea, or yours?" Steve continues, oblivious.

 

"Mine, actually," he admits, and that gets Steve looking at him curiously. Bucky twists on the swing so he's facing Steve a little more, even if he doesn't necessarily raise his eyes to look above Steve's nose.

 

"I... I'll probably grow it out again later, but for now..." Bucky sighs. "I got a little tired of seeing that face in the mirror. I. Need to see someone different for a while." He shrugs. "Haircut is an easy way to do that."

 

Steve nods his head. "I understand that." He pauses. "It still looks really hot."

 

Bucky can't not laugh at that. "Well, it'll give the office something to talk about when I go back to work."

 

"Oh? When's that?" Steve sits up a bit straighter.

 

"To properly work? Soon, not yet, but soon." Bucky talks softly, as though he's only speaking to himself. Denise hasn't said there's a date that he's absolutely needed back by, and with the grant it's not as though they're in dire straights like they were before. But... for the good of his own mental health and feelings of self-worth, he wants and needs to get back to work soon. Steve just watches and nods, not offering up any commentary on Bucky's decision.

 

"I _am_ going to be going to the Prospect Park Fall Picnic like I planned, though," Bucky says determinedly, psyching _himself_ into the idea. He sinks his top teeth into his bottom lip for a moment, deciding it's best just to barge on in. "You could come too, if you want?"

 

Steve cocks his head slightly to the side, like a dog. "Go to the picnic as well?"

 

"Yeah, as a first outing with the outreach. It's just the kids and all my colleagues, guardians as needed. It's really informal, and you'd get to meet everyone before working with them. Plus... Dee and I both agree it'd be good for the kids that were with me on Veterans' Day to see you, too. They've been asking about you, Jacob in particular."

 

"I've been thinking about them," Steve admits. "They're so young, it was a tough day to meet them, under the circumstances."

 

Bucky's fingers hook through the chain of the swing as far as they'll go. "I think if they could see that you're okay, and _they're_ okay... everything will be fine, y'know? Plus, how many times do you get to catch up with people you've helped after the fact?"

 

"Very rarely," Steve answers thoughtfully. "And when I can, it's usually a media circus."

 

"Since the Halloween party, the kids who didn't get to go have been talking non-stop about the Avengers, too. They'd love to meet you." He thinks about it for a few moments. "Not trying to make this a PR exercise for you, or anything, it really is an informal event. And it'd be a good way to get the surprise and kid-questions out of the way before you did an actual class, or anything?"

 

Bucky leans back on the swing a little and twists it towards Steve. He finally allows his eyes to go above Steve's nose. "I don't know how you feel about making this your first involvement, and it's kind of putting you on the spot..." Bucky expels a short, sharp breath. "I know I won't be alone, but it'd be... nice? To have you there with me, in semi-boyfriend capacity? I mean, I know you're not going there expressly for that purpose, but--"

 

"I'd _love_ to come to the picnic with you," Steve interjects gently, "if you and Denise think it's appropriate." He gives a cute smile. "I trust your professional judgment."

 

"Well, Dee thinks it'd be good for the kids to see that we're both fine. And good for _me_ to be in contact with them, even if I'm not officially back, yet." He thinks on it for a few moments. "I agree. I wanna make sure they're doing okay."

 

"You miss them," Steve postulates.

 

"I do, I really do," Bucky admits, drawing a letter 'B' in the dirt with his toe. "They... there's so many things in the world that you can't change, yeah? Politics, wars, violence, illness, asshole people... so many things I personally don't have any control over, or couldn't begin to help with. They remind me that there're things I _can_ do. They might be small, but they're _doable_." He flicks a glance to Steve, who is watching him intently, giving the occasional nod of acknowledgment.

 

"And I need to get back to work. Not just for the kids, for _me_. The last few weeks... it's been tough, as you know. But I've gotten back on my feet. Can't promise I won't occasionally trip up, but I'm standing again, right?"

 

It's a rhetorical question, but Steve answers it anyway. "Right," he confirms, and it makes Bucky smile.

 

"Anyway... work helps me focus, gives me purpose, and it's useful. By serving the kids, I ultimately serve myself. I... I like my work and I like the life I've built, and I'm not going to give it away for too long just because some assholes decided to ruin a perfectly good Veterans' Day."

 

Steve's looking at Bucky like his whole heart is bleeding out through his eyes, and Bucky feels his neck heat up. "You're my hero," Steve says quite out of the blue, and Bucky blurts out an ugly laugh.

 

"What?"

 

"You heard me," Steve says again, pushing his swing closer. "You know your value as a professional, as a damn _human being_ , no matter what you're going through personally, or who you're speaking to. You're strong, and brave, and inspiring. You... inspire me."

 

Bucky's caught quite off-guard by Steve's earnestness. It's not that he doesn't see his own value when he's feeling vulnerable like this, it's just a little harder. But Steve is bright and beaming Helios, and he illuminates everything. He drives away darkness like it's his God-given _duty._

 

Bucky drops his chin to his chest. He's not embarrassed, but it's... it's _a lot_ to hear Steve say this. The fact that this unflinching respect and admiration comes from the man he's grown to care so much about, it's humbling to the extreme.

 

He knows what he wants to tell Steve, but... it doesn't feel right. Not now, not when he's piecing everything back together. It'd just be hollow, disingenuous.

 

But Bucky wants so badly to show Steve that he's appreciated and important, without having to _say_ those words.

 

"Thank you," he chooses instead, soft and sincere. Reaching out, Bucky holds his hand between them. He watches Steve's hand, which doesn't take long to join his and squeeze his fingers. Satisfied, Bucky exhales and pushes with his feet, so that he swings gently.

 

It's quiet for a little while, as Bucky and Steve gently sway on the swings, holding hands. They let the ambient noise of the park fill in the silence for a little while. That single, simple point of contact helps smooth rough edges, calm jangled nerves. Everything's a little bit clearer.

 

Bucky listens to the sounds of the family playing football, excited shouts and laughter. Steve lifts their joined hands to brush his lips very carefully across the back of Bucky's wrist. Bucky flicks his eyes to Steve, sees reassuring warmth.

 

For the first time in a few weeks, Bucky feels strong, and safe. He knows what he wants; he knows what he's ready for. He's just not said it out loud to anyone, yet.

 

"I want to go home," he articulates, drawing Steve's attention. He looks to Steve, able to maintain eye contact. "I'm ready to go home."

 

Steve doesn't ask 'are you sure?', he doesn't question Bucky's decision. Just provides tacit support, as always.

 

"Okay, when?"

 

"After Thanksgiving," Bucky decides resolutely. "I'll stay over tonight, and then go back tomorrow. Bushka is driving my dad nuts, and... and I would like my own space back."

 

"Can I help?" Steve asks.

 

Bucky chews on his lower lip. "Maybe take me home? You could pick up my car if you need to... Needs to be a car to get Babushka home."

 

"I still have one of Tony's. I'd dearly love to get cat hair in the interior," Steve says sweetly, and Bucky laughs.

 

"Look, I can help out with that."

 

Steve pauses, choosing his words carefully. Bucky can tell. "I know you just said you wanted space, but I'm still free until the end of the weekend. If you wanted any company, that is? I don't mind either way."

 

And Bucky remembers what he told Steve when Steve left, and he's done exactly that; he's leant on his family, and he's leant on Benjamin and Denise and Sam... now it's time to lean on Steve. "Yeah," he says in a rough voice, squeezing their interlaced fingers, "Yeah, I think that'd be okay. I ah, I can't promise I'll always know what I'll want, or what you'll need to do, but... I want you around."

 

He can practically feel Steve's skin vibrate, and Bucky feels minutely bad. It's like he's finally given Steve something to do, a _purpose_ in this whole shitshow that is his PTSD, and he's coming alive. It's probably a bit of exaggeration, but that's what it feels like.

 

"Whatever you need," Steve promises in a heartfelt voice. "I'll do whatever you need."

 

"Okay," Bucky says softly, running his free hand through his hair. "Okay."

 

It's been a lovely and much-needed talk, but Bucky's done with being out in the open and laying insides bare. It's fucking _exhausting._

 

"Feel like going back?" Steve asks, pre-empting Bucky. The guy is getting incredibly good at reading his body language and facials.

 

"Yeah, I think so," Bucky answers, gently letting Steve's hand to go stand up. "Why, do you want to go, too?"

 

"Still worried about being caught out in this hat," he quips, and startles a chuckle out of Bucky.

 

"Okay, Prima Donna, let's get back to the house," he says. Bucky takes a moment to look down at Steve, into his clear, blue eyes. He offers his boyfriend a hand to get up.

 

"I prefer the term 'diva', actually," Steve says, slipping his hand into Bucky's and getting to his feet.

 

"Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to," Bucky says when Steve stands.

 

Steve's eyes sparkle a little. With slow, easy to dodge movements, he leans in and brushes the softest kiss over Bucky's cheekbone. Bucky feels the skin of his face heat a little, but he doesn't break into a full, red flush. He's glad that Steve feels good enough with him that he can take gentle initiative with those little gestures. He's glad that he's feeling on an even keel enough that they're not particularly worrying him.

 

They turn in the direction of the Barnes home, Bucky gently tugging on Steve's fingers. Not quite holding them, but not quite _not_ holding them, either. "Let's go before Google Earth catches pictures of you in the hat beams them to TMZ, so you cause an uproar in the boroughs and have to relocate."

 

Steve frowns. "Tony told me that wasn't actually true!" he protests.

 

"Wanna take the chance?" Bucky counters, smirking when Steve agrees.

 

They walk home, shoulders bumping most of the way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * so I wrote the first half of this fic before I crowbarred Steve's POV into the chapter before. I didn't change any of that opening afterwards, but somehow, Steve and Bucky's reunion manages to be even MORE heartfelt now we know what Steve's going through. 
> 
> * Bushka wants attention from her humans and is being a bit of an asshole XD
> 
> * So uh... I may have used the 'you're not my real mum' on my mum accidentally once. Believe me, Bucky got off lightly -_- 
> 
> * George continues to be modelled slightly on my father; donald duck cartoons, and the animal portrait. This is from my childhood, and then watching my dad interact with his nieces and nephews, and then grandson, y'all. 
> 
> * Animalia by Graeme Bass is a seminal children's book, and you should check it out if you've never seen it. 
> 
> * Steve + Thanksgiving = my favourite thing ever
> 
> * Steve's distaste of the Cubs is very real. 
> 
> Haircut: 
> 
> from this:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> to this:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> * I like my work and I like the life I've built, and I'm not going to give it away for too long just because some assholes decided to ruin a perfectly good Veterans' Day. -- this is Sarah's line. It appeared in her proof, and I loved it so much i couldn't bear changing a single word. Thank you Sarah <3 
> 
> * Peggy's not the only badass brunet Steve knows who knows their value. Preach. 
> 
> * Bucky articulates a lot of things for the first time to Steve in the park, things that have been circling around his head for a little. It's nice that Steve gets to be the first one to hear them. 
> 
> Surprisingly few notes on this chapter, though I have probably forgot a ton of things. Anyway! Bucky goes home next chapter. And the picnic is coming!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who followed the account [Steve from Brooklyn](http://www.instagram.com/stevefrombrooklyn)! It has over 100 followers now, and that amuses the hell out of me. What I'm going to try and do is update it within the context and confines of the fic. So if it's Thanksgiving in the fic, it's Thanksgiving/November on instagram. Of course the timestamps on instagram won't reflect this, but it'll keep me (and you guys, who are reading as I update) in the flow of the story as it happens/as it's written. 
> 
> Stucky fandom, you continue to be amazing. if you had the time to let me know your thoughts, that'd be sweet, you know. Because, fuck yeah, you're great. <3


	20. Dating (weeks 17-18)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With Home Sweet Home  
> * The One With The Picnic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww man, this took a lot longer to get out than I'd hoped, and i'm sorry for that. I do a lot of writing late at night, but it was messing with my sleeping patterns soooo bad. It was affecting my work and my mood, because I was exhausted all the time, so it had to stop. What it's meant is many times I was going to sit down and write, it was too late and I needed to just let it go and go to sleep instead.  
> I'm on a much better pattern now, and working on my time management to get into the habit of writing earlier in the evening. Hopefully that will be a thing. :D 
> 
> Sarah is forever my MVP. She makes everything better. 
> 
> Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.

**_The One With Home Sweet Home_ **

 

_Location: Barnes Residence / Bucky's Apartment_

 

 

Bucky places his duffel bag and pet pack by the door, ready to go. Babushka looks at him with green eyes, betrayed.

 

"You can't guilt me," he tells her, "you wouldn't need to be in there already if it didn't take half an hour to catch and get you _inside_." She doesn't even deign his comments worthy enough to 'meow' to.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes and stands up straight. A quick look at his watch tells him it's nearly the time Steve designated as his pick up.

 

The previous night had gone well. After Bucky and Steve got back to the house, there was casual, relaxed family time, and more eating. The eating, in fact, continued right into the night, something Steve was in rapture about.

 

He said his goodbyes sometime before ten, promising to be back around eleven a.m. the following day. Now it's nearly eleven, and Steve is nothing if not prompt.

 

As if mere thought summons his existence, the doorbell behind Bucky rings. Bucky looks to the frosted glass and sees a familiar silhouette.

 

He opens the door to observe Steve looking bright and alert and cheerful. "Hey, Buck," he greets warmly, stepping into the house. Bucky tilts his head up, allowing Steve to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

"Hey," Bucky replies. There's a sense of _almost normal_ that pervades the exchange, and it's a good feeling.

 

Steve glances down to the bag and pet pack by the door. "You got everything already?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky nods, scratching the back of his neck. It might seem a bit over-eager, but once the decision to go home entered his head, he's not been able to focus on too much else.

 

"Bucky, is that Steve?" Winifred calls from the kitchen.

 

Bucky flicks him a little smile, and they both walk down the hall together to enter the dining room, then kitchen. Winifred is at the counter mixing something.

 

She looks up as they arrive, a smile blooming on her face, and Steve gives her a little wave. Gesturing for him to approach, Winnie takes his face in her hands and pecks his cheek. Bucky sees a rosy hue faintly stain Steve's skin.

 

"You'll stay for a coffee, yes? It's just finished brewing."

 

Steve gives Bucky a sidelong glance, looking for confirmation. Bucky shrugs in answer. He's not really rushed, and there's always time for coffee.

 

"I'd love a cup, thank you, Mrs Barnes," Steve says politely.

 

"Me too, ma," Bucky adds.

 

Seemingly pleased they both want coffee, Winnie fixes them all a mug, and they sit around the counter. It's nice and informal, and Steve and his mother chat like old friends. Bucky interjects every once in a while, but he's by and large happy to coast along and listen.

 

When the coffee is done, Winnie walks them to the front door. She squeezes Steve and then Bucky as tight as her arms will allow. Bucky lets his face fall to her shoulder for a few moments, absorbing the comfort that only his mother can emit. "Call us if you need anything. Or come over, you know we don't mind."

 

"I will, mom," Bucky promises, resolving to catch up with his parents and Grace a little more in person.

 

Bucky turns away early enough that he doesn't get the full image of his mother quickly swiping a knuckle beneath one eye. He looks to Steve, who is shouldering the duffel and holding the pet pack, wearing a bright smile.

 

"Let's do this," he says for himself more than anyone else.

 

Bucky makes his way outside to find an unfamiliar SUV in the driveway. Steve opens the passenger door of the sleek, brushed silver Land Rover and puts the duffel in, as well as gently places Babushka's pet pack into the back seat. He then waits by the door and looks to Bucky expectantly.

 

Bucky walks to the vehicle and gives it an appraising once-over. "I thought you said you were borrowing a Stark car," he remarks as he sits in the seat.

 

As nice as it is -- and it's a really fucking nice car -- it doesn't look like something Tony Stark would own, much less drive.

 

Steve slides into the driver's seat and kicks the engine over. "So, Tony has strange ways of showing his friendship sometimes. I was going to rent a car, and Tony said I should borrow one of his. But everything he's got is so... over the top."

 

"So he went and bought an SUV for you to borrow?" Bucky asks.

 

"He actually just plain bought it _for_ me," Steve admits, looking mildly embarrassed. "But I didn't _want_ one, I just needed to use one sometimes."

 

Bucky leans an elbow on the windowsill. "So this is _your_ car."

 

"Not technically. Tony owns it and it lives at the Tower. I just... borrow it whenever I need it."

 

"Ever worried you'll turn up and he's using it?" Bucky asks with a smile in his voice.

 

Steve flicks him a quick glance. "He was pretty emphatic about choosing a car for me that he said he'd never, ever, _ever_ be tempted to drive." Bucky gives Steve an incredulous look, to which Steve responds with a resigned shrug. "He looked for, and I quote 'boring and functional, but just stylish enough that I won't be embarrassed to be billed for it."

 

"Why, what's wrong with this?" Bucky asks, affronted on Steve's behalf. "It's a really nice car!"

 

"I think so, too. But it's not a _Tony_ car," Steve replies in a way that Bucky can practically hear the airquotes.

 

Bucky harrumphs and puts his face in his hand. There's something bothering him about that, but he's not in the right frame of mind to explore it just now. He hopes he'll remember this later.

 

Bucky spends a little time watching Steve navigate the Brooklyn streets, seeing him focus on his environment. It's soothing, and before he knows it, Steve's pulling up on his street.

 

They unload Bucky's possessions and head into his building, up to the third floor. At first glance, his door looks somewhat strange and unfamiliar to him, but the feeling passes as quickly as it comes.

 

He unlocks the door and heads inside.

 

The apartment is mildly stuffy, but that's to be expected. Bucky casts a wary glance around, before Babushka's impatient mewls capture his attention. Steve sets the pet pack down, and Bucky crouches next to it.

 

"Welcome home, baby doll," he says, opening the little door. Babushka slinks out a few steps and casts her shrewd gaze around, before bolting into Bucky's bedroom. He stands up with a muffled groan.

 

"Will she be okay?" Steve asks.

 

"Yeah, fine. She'll probably disappear for a while and make sure nothing's changed." Bucky wanders into the kitchen and fills his coffee maker with water, before poking in the fridge idly.

 

"I did visit while you weren't here," Steve says, and Bucky arches an eyebrow. "Checked that your windows were locked and that there were no perishables in the fridge."

 

Bucky hums in approval. He did notice there were no fruits, vegetables, or milk in there. The box of leftover takeout he vaguely remembers having is gone, and the kitchen trash is empty, too. Beats the hell out of coming home an apartment smelling of rotting food. "Thanks," he says sincerely.

 

Wandering over to his sofa, Bucky flops down on it, feeling at peace for the first time in a few weeks. He hears Babushka's soft mewls and she re-explores her environment and he sighs, sinking into the couch cushions a little more.

 

Steve comes over with a glass of water in each hand, offering one to Bucky. He sits up a little straighter and takes it gratefully. Steve sits next to Bucky on the sofa, not too close, but not right up the other end, either.

 

"Home sweet home, huh?" Steve asks with a little smile, and Bucky allows a throaty chuckle.

 

"Something like that." He pauses, glancing around his apartment. "The quiet. It's nice. I mean... being around mom and dad and Gracie was fine, and that level of white noise served its purpose at the time, but _now_..." Bucky exhales gustily. "Now I just need quiet and my own space back."

 

Steve nods thoughtfully. "And what would you like to do now?"

 

Bucky shrugs. "Have a shower? Read a book? Look over my programs? I don't know, I'm just happy to be here."

 

"I'm glad," Steve says softly.

 

Turning his head to the left, Bucky looks at Steve. "What do _you_ want to do?"

 

Steve takes a sip of water and then puts it down on the coffee table with a gentle smile. "Well, I feel a bit bad I threw out half the contents of your icebox, so I thought I could head out to the market and get you some food. Maybe pick up some lunch while I'm out?" His dark lashes flutter down in a move that is rather bashful and singularly attractive. "I thought it'd give you a bit of time to reacclimate to your apartment."

 

Steve is so considerate sometimes it actually physically hurts his chest.

 

"That sounds like a great idea," Bucky says approvingly, and Steve gives him a smile. He's encouraged to continue.

 

"I don't know how long you want me to stay after, but you can just let me know." He pauses for a moment. "No pressure, but if you want me to spend the night, I'll have to stop and pick up some things from my apartment."

 

Bucky considers the situation thoughtfully. He's happy to be home, he'll enjoy the privacy... but that doesn't mean he necessarily wants to be _alone_. He's missed spending time with Steve in the last few weeks, and given how much Steve's responded over the Thanksgiving holiday, Bucky suspects that time together at this point might benefit _Steve_ as much as it does him.

 

Plus, he trusts his boyfriend enough that if Bucky has an issue, or the circumstances suddenly change, he can _tell_ Steve, and it'll be okay.

 

"I'd like you to stay," Bucky tells him sincerely. "In fact, when you go home..." He pauses for a moment, cheek twitching briefly as he chooses his words. " Maybe you could bring some extra clothes, too? I have a-- a spare drawer you could keep them in..." If Steve's smile could emit heat based on its emotional warmth, it would go from campfire to molten magma to blue supergiant. "It'd save you having to go out of your way to your apartment all the time," he finishes slightly awkwardly, as Steve is sitting there grinning at him like a goofball.

 

Steve doesn't answer for a few moments, content to sit and be happy. "That sounds like a great idea," he cheerfully replies eventually. "Very 'couple-y'."

 

Bucky puts his hands over his face. "Don't make me regret it and rescind the invite."

 

"Are you going to?" Steve probes gently.

 

" _No_ ," Bucky mumbles behind his hands.

 

"Okay, then." Steve hefts himself off the couch, and Bucky feels the barest brush of lips against his forehead. "I'll be back soon."

 

Bucky uncovers his face and watches as Steve gathers his keys and sweater, says goodbye to Babushka, and slips out the door without letting the cheeky calico out.

 

He slumps in the sofa and exhales noisily.

 

It's nice to be left to his own devices for a little while. First, Bucky makes his way to the bathroom to have a hot shower. He has a hesitant moment at the bathroom door, his brain generously reminding him that last time he was here, he was near-catatonic at the bottom of the bathtub.

 

Bucky firmly pushes that aside, and makes sure the water runs hot well before he steps under the spray.

 

After his shower, Bucky changes into a pair of comfortable track pants and one of his favourite sweaters. He's been living out of leftover clothes in his old room and the small supply Steve packed for him, so the autonomy of going into his wardrobe to pick his _own_ outfit is eminently satisfying.

 

He takes to emptying his duffel bag after that. Thankfully, his mom was a total _mom_ before he left, and didn't let him depart with un-laundered clothes, saving him a trip to the washing machine in the basement.

 

After he puts the clothes away, Bucky opens the bottom drawer in his chest of drawers and pulls out the few undershirts and socks that are in there. He closes the empty drawer with a small smile, and ducks back into the bathroom to clear a little space in his medicine cabinet for anything else Steve might bring over.

 

Bucky makes a stop in the kitchen to turn the coffee maker on before heading back to the living room. He hooks his phone's Spotify account through the television to play some music while he makes his way to his work station and absently starts checking out his files.

 

He pulls up his calendar and stares at the plan for November and December. With the picnic on the third, he's got a week from tomorrow to be ready for it.

 

A couple of Bucky's programs for winter are half-finished, and he's mildly annoyed because he's lost the momentum and will have to try and remember what he intended to do. It shouldn't take too much prodding. There are some doodled notes in the margins of a few printed pages, and a few more on the actual files he was working on.

 

He spends about twenty minutes making a few more notations, more or less getting back on track with what he'd been getting to. Bucky's not in any real rush right now; it's more about re-aligning his brain and getting it back into work-mode, if only for a while.

 

After a little mental stretch, Bucky takes a walk around his apartment and does some general tidying. His belongings are more or less where they should be, but his apartment has always collected grime like a motherfucker, and he doesn't want Babushka stirring up dust devils as she runs around.

 

He dusts, but decides against the vacuum so as not to upset Bushka. Afterwards, he strips his bed and puts new linens on, and a light comforter. Bucky runs his hand over the fabric, smoothing it out; it's satisfying to see and feel new sheets.

 

Bucky's sitting on the sofa, watching some sitcom on tv, Babushka curled up in the crook of his elbow, when his phone chimes.

 

_Steve: ETA 5 mins with bags._

Bucky gives a faint smile and strokes his finger down the soft fur between Bushka's eyes. Sure enough, roughly five minutes later, there's a knock at the door. Bucky figures Steve must need a hand, or he doesn't have his keys.

 

Putting Bushka down and shooing her into the bedroom, Bucky unlocks the door.

 

Steve is standing outside, bags by his feet, holding a modest bouquet of brightly-coloured flowers. A surprised laugh spills from Bucky's mouth, and Steve grins.

 

He looks down at the bags at Steve's feet. "Do you need me to carry anything?"

 

"Just these," Steve says, holding the bouquet out towards Bucky. Bucky shakes his head fondly, and takes the flowers. He backs up to allow Steve room to gather all the bags and enter. It occurs to him that of course Steve had keys otherwise he couldn't have gotten into the building...

 

...But then Bucky wouldnt've opened his door to see the giant blond dork holding the flowers out to him.

 

Bucky runs his finger over one of the soft petals. There's a little bit of scent to them, but it's not overpowering, which is nice.

 

Steve pushes the door closed with his hip and loads the bags on the bench, including one takeout bag from a Greek place he knows not far from his apartment.

 

"How much did you buy, anyway?" Bucky asks, looking over no less than half a dozen grocery bags.

 

"Well, the icebox is looking pretty bare, I thought I could stock it up and give you one less thing to worry about," Steve says, unpacking meat, eggs, fruit, vegetables, cheese, bacon, milk.

 

It's a thoughtful gesture; with more than enough food, Bucky won't actually have to go food shopping for a while if he doesn't want to. Though if Steve's hanging around, that amount of food won't last more than a few days.

 

And speaking of which...

 

Bucky watches as Steve methodically puts all the groceries away. It's soothing and domestic seeing Steve calmly at home in his apartment. It helps him get the next sentence out. "I cleared the bottom drawer from my chest for you," he offers. "You know, if you want."

 

Steve looks up and gives Bucky a soft, hopeful smile. "I didn't bring much? I, ah... didn't want to go overboard. A few spare sets of clothes, and sneakers... actually got a new packet of underwear while I was out."

 

"Why you did that when you seem allergic to them here is beyond me," Bucky quips.

 

He realises then he's still holding the flowers. "I'll find the vase and give its life meaning for the second time this year. Shit, mom is gonna faint when I tell her."

 

Steve laughs softly. "She plays her cards right, she'll get some flowers, too," he says as Bucky putters around. The bouquet gets put in fresh water, vase staying on the counter, otherwise Bushka will consider it a 'challenge'.

 

Steve plates up their lunch, which turns out to be a couple of amazing gyros, and some Greek sweets for dessert. "That's why I'm dating you," Bucky tells him, "you're made of flowers and Greek food."

 

They sit on the sofa together and eat. It's a pretty quiet meal, but the silence is amicable. One crappy sitcom on tv leads into another, and it makes for a fine distraction.

 

Bucky is still licking the honey from the baklava off his fingers when Steve decides to change. He takes a sports bag into Bucky's bedroom, but when he's gone for a while, Bucky clears away the takeout wrappers and wanders in to see what's going on. He finds Steve, who has changed into a hoodie and sweat pants, crouched in front of the chest of drawers, trying to _Captain America_ -voice Babushka out of sitting right on top of his pile of clean clothes.  
  
***

 

The afternoon-turned-evening is quiet. Steve spends a bit of time telling Bucky about last year's Thanksgiving dinner at Mrs Wilson's house, which sounded like a lot of fun. Bucky grabs his laptop and sits on the sofa at one end, Steve at the other, and bounces ideas around to finish his winter programs. Steve has some thoughts, and somewhere along the line, Bucky's feet end up in Steve's lap, with his boyfriend gently massaging them. This is not an unpleasant arrangement.

 

After Bucky rubs his eyes three times in five minutes, he knows it's time to shut the laptop off. Having had such a filling lunch, Bucky's happy with something small for supper, while Steve fixes himself something a bit larger.

 

Eventually, Bucky starts to yawn. Steve makes a motion towards the bedroom, and he nods in agreement.

 

Bucky shuffles towards his bathroom, brushing teeth and washing his face, before crawling into bed. Steve makes similar night-time ablutions before joining him. He stands to the side of the bed awkwardly for a moment, and Bucky realises he's not actually specified the sleeping arrangements for the night.

 

He reaches over and pulls back the covers for the side Steve normally sleeps on, and Steve climbs in with something that looks like relief on his face.

 

Bucky turns on the tv low, and sets the timer, before turning towards Steve. Steve rests his head on the pillow, watching Bucky carefully.

 

"How's it going?" he asks in a soft voice.

 

Bucky looks at Steve's left hand, which rests on the mattress between them. He moves his right slowly, slipping over the back of Steve's hand, interlacing their fingers. "It's okay," he responds.

 

They're quiet for a moment, and then Bucky adds in a soft voice: "I missed you."

 

Steve raises his hand to bring Bucky's close to his face, kissing his knuckles. "The feeling's entirely mutual."

 

There's a moment that passes between them, then; rife with electricity, full of meaning. Bucky aches for closeness, and it spurs him forward.

 

Their lips meet, and Steve pushes into the kiss just a little. Bucky doesn't mind. Even though people have been careful to not treat him as though he's made of glass, there's definitely been a certain level of handling he's endured over the past two weeks. He longs to feel like himself again.

 

Bucky encourages the push, shuffling himself closer to Steve on the mattress, one of his legs bumping Steve's, ultimately pushing between his stupidly bony knees.

 

Steve's kisses are controlled, but becoming more insistent, more passionate with each growing moment. He digs his right hand underneath Bucky's body to wrap around his waist, the left pressing him close between the shoulder blades. Bucky makes a little sound of pleasure in his throat, fingers flexing against Steve's skin.

 

He grips Steve's biceps and starts to feel dazed; it's been too long since Steve kissed him like this, too long since he felt happy and desirable and good. His skin tingles in anticipation, even though the logic portion of Bucky's brain is telling him that there's not going to be any sex tonight, there's nothing wrong with fooling around a little. Necking was a fine past time when he was fifteen, and it's still great at thirty-one.

 

Scooting closer again, Steve's lips leave his mouth and kiss his chin, his cheek, his jaw just beneath his ear... all the while his left hand moves further up his spine until--

 

Steve's large hand reaches the back of his neck, where it rests there as a heavy weight.

 

Bucky's gut roils instantly. His half-lidded eyes snap open immediately, fingers spasming on Steve's arms, breaths becoming shallow. Steve doesn't seem to notice, at least, not right away, running his lips down the line of Bucky's jaw.

 

There's noise between his ears, a buzzing like bees in a hive that is loud and angry just get off get offget off _getoffgetoff--_

Bucky's fingers tighten around Steve's biceps deliberately and he pushes. Not too hard, but firm enough. Steve looks up, confusion on his face, followed by worry. "Buck?" he asks, leaning in, but Bucky needs him to not be so goddamn close for a second, and pushes him resolutely again.

 

He reaches up to peel Steve's fingers off the back of his neck, letting out a shuddery exhale when the pressure is gone. Instead of letting his hand go, though, he holds it in both of his between them.

 

Steve looks perplexed, brow furrowed deeply, with messy hair and kiss-swollen lips. He carefully extricates his right hand from Bucky's body. "Bucky, is everything--" he stops and starts again. "Did I do something wrong?"

 

Bucky holds Steve's hand in front of him and shuts his eyes. He breathes heavily. The buzzing has died down, but it's still there humming quietly as background noise, like the tv is ambient noise in the physical room.

 

He takes a moment, breathing in, holding it, and then breathing out again, before opening his eyes. Steve's expression is set to break his fucking heart. "I'm sorry if I scared you," he begins, rubbing his thumb absently over Steve's knuckles. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise. It's just--" he exhales sharply. "You know how I said I might not always know what I'll want or need?" Steve nods. "I needed to stop, because..." Bucky considers the reasons, and realises he can't really articulate why, it's simply a fact. "Because I needed to stop," he finishes in a resigned way.

 

Steve looks down at their joined hands, cowed. "It was too much. I shouldn't have kissed you, shouldn't have pushed--"

 

"Shut up," Bucky interrupts him, and the tired reply snaps Steve's eyes back into contact with his own. "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do. I _wanted_ to make out with you. Still do, if I'm being honest, but... want and need are two different things, you know?"

 

"I know," he responds quietly. "Do you know... I mean, are you able to pinpoint exactly what we did that made you want to stop? It's okay if you can't," Steve says quickly, eyes searching Bucky's face, "it's just that, if it's something that I did unintentionally, I want to make sure I don't do it again."

 

Despite the buzzing, and the shitty reactions, Bucky can't help but give him a weak smile. "Sometimes I'm not sure I didn't just dream you up, you know?" The smile fades a little as he tries to gather his thoughts. Steve is asking a legitimate question, and one that genuinely might help them both navigate this fucking minefield of recovery.

 

"The kissing was good... but when you touched the back of my neck, it just--" Bucky shudders and pushes down the feeling of bile in his throat. "It just felt wrong. Confining."

 

Steve nods slowly. "I've touched you there many times before," he observes carefully, "and that's never provoked that response." Bucky can see the confusion on his face, for an act that he's done a dozen times and Bucky has always enjoyed.

 

"Welcome to PTSD. The only instance I'll ever accept the response 'it's not you; it's _me._ '"

 

Steve laughs unexpectedly, which actually makes Bucky smile. "I don't know if I should be laughing at that," Steve says ruefully.

 

"Why not?" Bucky asks, "I'm a funny guy." He squeezes Steve's hand, and his boyfriend responds in kind. "I think we might have to build up to the intimacy again," Bucky says, turning the conversation serious once again.

 

"I understand," Steve nods. "I don't mind." He takes his right hand to be able to now cradle both of Bucky's between them. "This recovery business is _hard_ ," he says, and it's that honesty that Bucky continues to find so refreshing.  

 

"I know," Bucky says. "You're being... _so_ obliging, though. And your consideration is just, it's helping me a _lot_."

 

Steve brightens a little. "Yeah?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky confirms. "I have lots of incentive to get better. Not in the least because you're ace at the whole 'sex' thing."

 

Steve lifts one side of his mouth in a wry smirk. "Thanks, I think?" He fixes Bucky with his steady gaze. "If you still need a bit of space tonight, I don't mind sleeping on the couch. It's important to me that you're comfortable."

 

Bucky might be a wee bit fucked up, but he's recovering as well as can be expected, and he's done this before, and he's an adult, and the man he loves isn't going to sleep on the goddamn sofa.

 

He makes a little 'turn' gesture with his index finger. "Little spoon it," he tells Steve.

 

Steve raises an eyebrow, a silent 'are you sure?'" Bucky just makes the finger motion one more time.

 

The position allows them to be close, but gives Bucky no feelings of being held down or constrained. He slips his right arm over Steve's waist, and Steve brushes his fingertips over Bucky's, but makes no attempt to grab or hold onto his arm. Bucky tucks his chin over Steve's shoulder, breath ruffling the fine blond hairs at the back of his neck.

 

It's calm, and soothing, and Bucky falls asleep quicker than he has in the last week.

 

***  
  
He wakes curled into Steve's side, head resting on his shoulder. A squinty examination reveals that Babushka has taken possession of Steve's other shoulder, and the man in question is flat on his back and dead to the world, sleeping with his mouth open. He makes tiny little wheezes.

 

It feels like the first night in weeks where he's not been analysing the patterns on his ceiling for hours, nor passed out and woken up feeling more tired than when he went to bed. In point of fact, Bucky feels nicely rested, comfortable to be in his own home, happy that Steve is still there. Even with last night's inconvenient hiccup.

 

Bucky settles his head back down on Steve's shoulder and thinks everything might be okay after all.

 

***  
  
**_The One With The Picnic_**

_(Location: Prospect Park)_

The parking angels are with Bucky when he finds a space right on the intersection of Washington and Carroll, at one of the entrances to the eastern side of Prospect Park. He gets out of Steve's not-car and heads towards the trunk. Steve meets him there and pops it open, surveying the boxes critically.

 

"We'll need to make two trips, I don't think we can get it all out in one," Bucky says. He casts a glance towards Steve and sees a particular set to his jaw, before rolling his eyes. "No."

 

"Challenge accepted," Steve says determinedly. "Load me up."

 

"This is stupid."

 

"Your face is stupid. Give me boxes."

 

Bucky sighs wearily, even if his mouth has a bit of a smile. He loads Steve's arms with two boxes and a foldout table, taking the last cooler out for himself to carry.

 

Steve has to look sideways past the boxes he carries. "Where are we headed?"

 

Bucky locks the SUV and pops the keys in Steve's jacket pocket. "Through gates, then follow me."

 

He leads Steve through a bit of a hedge and onto some paved paths that crisscross this area of the Park. There are many different offshoots through gorgeous, well-trimmed hedges aside park benches, but Bucky knows exactly where he's going.

 

"We're headed to the Japanese Hill-and-Pond garden. There's a pagoda on the water with a lovely view. I got the permit for its use about three months ago," he tells Steve confidently. "We've had picnics around the Botanical Gardens before, but this is the first time we've snagged this location."

 

Denise asked Bucky back in June when they were planning the latter half of the year, if he'd take on this event, and he agreed. It chafes that he couldn't finish what he started and fine-tune the details of the picnic given his unexpected time off work, but the majority of it had already been done. Dee told him that Vanessa followed up on the last few things, and he's reasonably confident it's going to be successful.

 

And he's here and not missing out on it, so that definitely counts as a win.

 

The paved paths turn to asphalt as they get closer to the water, though the path at the water's edge is made up of less-uniform grey stone. It leads to a series of wooden paling fences and a gate, upon which is taped a small sign that displays the outreach's name and the words 'private function'.

 

Bucky opens the gate and holds it for Steve to manoeuvre through. Steve sidesteps past him, laden arms brushing against Bucky's chest, smiling at him, and Bucky definitely can't help but return the smile.

 

On the other side is an open structure with a multiple-eaved roof. It extends out on stilts into the pond a little way, with dark brown wooden planks that offer an open verandah for beautiful views of the water, the gardens, and parts of the New York skyline.

 

When they get inside the pagoda, they find Denise already there, unpacking boxes of her own with Vanessa. She looks up and gives them both a warm smile.

 

"You're early," she says, sounding pleased. Denise walks over to give Bucky a warm hug.

 

"Didn't want you setting up on your own," Bucky responds, squeezing Denise's arms gently, "especially as I fell out of organising the fine details in the last month."

 

Dee dismisses his concerns with a gentle smile and gestures to Vanessa. "Vanessa tied up all the loose ends, and I think we're in for a nice day." She turns to Steve, who is placing his boxes down carefully. "However, I see you brought the muscle," she jokes gently, before stretching her hand out in greeting.

 

Steve takes her hand, but also dips in to kiss her cheek. Bucky's sort of glad only Vanessa is around to see that; it might come across as overly-familiar to anyone else who doesn't know that Steve has not just been introduced to Denise as Captain America, but also in the context of a friend to Bucky's new beau.

 

"Well, I hope I bring a little more to the table than just muscle," Steve replies with good humour. "Lovely to see you, Denise."

 

"Likewise." She turns to see Vanessa watching them all with a dazed look. "Vanessa, come and say 'hello'."

 

Vanessa walks over slowly, looking equal parts excited and nervous. "Captain Rogers," she begins in a tremulous voice, "it's an honour to meet you."

 

Steve shakes her hand and smiles politely. "Lovely to meet you, Vanessa. Though if it's all the same to you," his smile takes on a slightly warmer, boyish quality, "it's just 'Steve'."

 

Vanessa looks scandalised for a moment, and looks to Bucky. She blinks owlishly, as though seeing him for the first time. "Bucky! Good to see you," she says, giving him a quick-but-genuine hug.

 

"Good to be here," he returns, "and thank you _so_ much for finishing the picnic arrangements."

 

Vanessa demurs politely, eyes locked onto Steve. Bucky knows that Denise has already told his colleagues that Steve's attending, but based on Vanessa's response, it would probably be wise for either himself or Denise to address the protocol -- or rather, lack of it -- desired for Steve's attendance.

 

"We are able-bodied and prepared. Where can we start?" Bucky asks, looking around at the boxes they unloaded, as well as the ones that would've come with Denise and Vanessa. Denise switches into delegation-mode immediately.

 

"Steve, if you can set up the table out on the verandah, that would be great. Bucky, you and Vanessa can start on the food."

 

"Yes, ma'am," Steve says automatically, and Denise grins.

 

"You can take the man out of the army," she tsks, leaving the quote unfinished.

 

"I know, I know," Bucky says, smiling. Denise touches his shoulder before leaving the pagoda briefly to get a few more things out of her car.

 

Vanessa still seems a little starstruck. "I can't believe he actually came," she enthuses.

 

Bucky pulls out bags of potato chips and starts putting them into bowls. "What did Dee tell you about him?" Since he wasn't around for the briefing, he's curious as to what was said.

 

"She just said she met him at the Halloween party, and he really loved talking to the kids." Vanessa pushes her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose, unpacking napkins and a large tray of cupcakes. "She's also talked to him on the phone a few times since, and that he's really keen to contribute? But, like, not so much as an Avenger, more as a private citizen. So it's not something we really want to be publicising too much, because it's not a PR stunt."

 

Bucky looks at Denise, who is back and studiously setting up the tea and coffee station. He could kiss her. Really. Just... right on the lips, in front of everyone.

 

Instead, he clears his throat and nods. "That's it in a nutshell," he confirms.

 

Vanessa stops setting up for a moment. "She also told us about... Veterans Day, and his involvement," she says tentatively. Bucky stops working, and looks at her expectantly. It's going to be a thing that comes up, and he's prepared as best he can for it.

 

When Vanessa stops there, Bucky encourages her gently. "Go on."

 

"And she said that you've been in contact over that. So you're his outreach POC now, and if we have any questions when he isn't around, we should talk to you."

 

Well, that's one way to get around the fact they obviously know one another. Kudos, Dee.

 

"Sounds about right," Bucky agrees, maintaining a neutral expression on his face. He's good, because Vanessa doesn't pick up on anything strange.

 

"Does this mean you're friends with Captain America?" she asks in a hushed tone, and Bucky wishes he could just laugh hysterically.

 

"I find it hard to believe some days, too," reassures her, completely honestly.

 

Steve comes back undercover, wiping his hands on his jeans, looking bright. "Can I do anything else?"

 

Denise finds a box on the ground and hands it to him. "You can lay this out, if you like." Bucky gets up and peers in the box, which is full of colouring books, blank sketchpads and pencils. Steve's face lights up, even as he gives Dee a querying look.

 

"We're going to shut the gates while we're eating so we can keep an eye on all the kids... because they can't run around, I've got supplies for a little art station in case they finish early. Afterwards, we're going to go across to the grassy area and play a few games."

 

"Sounds good, Dee," Bucky says.

 

"Great! You can help Steve," she says, handing Bucky another box.

 

Bucky smirks, and they both head back to where the table is set up.

 

It's a lovely day, the sun is bright, the air crisp. There is a tablecloth in the box, as well as cups to put pencils in. Steve lays everything out, looking around the park as he does so.

 

"That red thing is very aesthetically pleasing," he says, gesturing to the symmetrical structure poking out of the water.

 

Bucky glances at it quickly. "That's called a torii. They usually appear at the entrances to Shinto temples."

 

"Oh. Is there a temple here?"

 

Bucky frowns for a moment. "Don't think so. But they're pretty traditionally Japanese. They usually mark gateways or entrances."

 

"Huh." Steve looks at it a little longer, before getting back to the box of art supplies.

 

It's fun to set things up with Steve. He's excited to see the kids draw and colour, maybe join in a little himself, and Bucky has to give it to Denise. She's on the ball. This is a great, informal way to introduce Steve to the kids, and get them all participating in something that will potentially be the pre-cursor to Steve taking a group on his own.

 

In the meantime, Rory and Jarrod arrive. They're introduced to Steve to varying degrees of star-struck. Bucky can't help a twitch when Steve meets Rory; the offhand words his co-worker spoke when the hostage situation went down in Geneva about him being a target and getting shot on live TV had been hard to forget.

 

Confronted by Steve in person, however, he's suddenly a _lot_ more polite.

 

Steve makes small talk with Rory and Jarrod before he addresses both men and Vanessa. He explains that he's here to check in on the kids from Veterans Day, but also to get a feel for the outreach and volunteering. If all goes well, and when he has time, he intends to help out.

 

Finally, Steve insists that everyone just address him by his first name; it's important to him that Steve Rogers is volunteering here, _not_ Captain America. He cites that Denise and Bucky already refer to him just as 'Steve', and he greatly prefers it. To back him up, Bucky and Denise nod seriously.

 

Everyone seems to take the information pretty well, though Jarrod approaches Steve afterwards and says he can't promise he's not going to have a minor teen girl moment at some stage. Steve just shrugs and offers to braid his hair and talk about boys if it'll help.

 

Jarrod snorts out a laugh and gives Steve an incredulous look, like he can't actually believe Steve just sassed him. Bucky shrugs when Jarrod glances to him. "Don't look at me, I've been putting up with this for a while now."

 

Steve just smiles brightly.

 

The kids start to trickle through the gates in dribs and drabs. Denise thought it best to treat Steve like any other outreach employee and just have him already there and helping and participating as they arrive, rather than hiding him away for a grandiose reveal.

 

Bucky thinks it works. As the kids come through with their parents and guardians, they see him putting cupcakes on plates with Vanessa, or helping Dee with a particularly stubborn table leg. No matter what, Steve always has someone from the outreach staff close by to assist-act as a buffer for anyone too overwhelmed.

 

There's excitement and stunned awe from many of the kids initially, but they all roll with it much quicker than a set of adults would in the same circumstances.

 

Some of the adults at the drop-off, if they recognise Steve, are immediately thrown, or want to hang around longer than is necessary. In that instance, Denise politely-but-professionally moves them on. The outreach has many events throughout the year where those adult helpers are asked for and encouraged, but the picnic is the special event on the calendar that is always _just_ the kids.

 

The children Bucky works with the most, in some respects, are more excited to see him than they are Steve. He's the recipient of his own amount of attention, which is sweet. They'd been told he was coming, and a few bring little tokens for him, and it's very touching.

 

The first kids that were part of Bucky's group on Veterans Day show up, and it's Lani and Ramone. They are excited to see him, and feel particularly special when he takes a moment to draw them aside and sits with them on the verandah. Bucky doesn't catch much of the conversation, but the body language is very focused; Steve sits forward on the bench, elbows on knees and fingers interlaced in front of him as he listens to the siblings speak. He spends maybe ten minutes just with them, before he's on the receiving end of some huge hugs, and rejoins the group.

 

Georgia soon arrives, and excitedly flings herself into Steve's arms. Bucky has a flashing moment of seeing her in Steve's grip, blonde head beneath the vibranium shield as they ran for the police and safety-- but he stops himself. He breathes in, holds it, and out, repeating this until his pulse slows.

 

It _did_ happen, but it's over. They're safe, everyone's safe.

 

The kids continue to arrive. Each time they're momentarily star-struck, but then come to accept it. By now, everyone either working or attending the outreach knows what happened at both the Halloween party, and on Veterans Day. It doesn't seem weird that Steve is there, after a little bit. To them, it just seems to make sense.

 

When Jacob arrives, his eyes go wide, and he runs to Steve straight away. "Steve, Steve! Do you remember me?" he asks eagerly.

 

Steve smiles down genially, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Of course I do, Jacob, it's great to see you again."

 

Jacob is as pleased as anything to see his hero, and they exchange a few words. That's not surprising to Bucky at all.

 

What surprises the _shit_ out of him is Jacob catching his eye, and launching himself at Bucky, wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist. Bucky's eyes go round, but he puts his hands gently on Jacob's shoulders and reciprocates.

 

"Hey, Jacob," Bucky says softly.

 

Jacob's voice is muffled against Bucky's shirt, but he mumbles out a 'hello'. He looks across to Denise, who is watching with avid interest. She catches his eye and gives him a fond look. As it turns out, all Jacob needed to relate to Bucky was have Bucky lead him out of a life-threatening crisis. Yay.

 

Jacob pulls away and rubs the side of his face. "'M'glad you're here," he says. "I drew you a picture. Have you seen it?"

 

"Not yet. I haven't had a chance to check my desk at the office properly, but I'm going to grab it after the picnic today. I look forward to seeing it."

 

"It's not very good," Jacob mumbles, and Bucky shakes his head.

 

"I'm sure it's _awesome._ Thank you for thinking of me while I was away."

 

Jacob looks over to Steve. "I did a drawing for you, too, but I left it at home," he says with a frown.

 

"That's all right," Steve appeases, "Denise has brought some art supplies. I was thinking maybe we could have a sit down a bit later and draw together. What do you say?"

 

Jacob's face lights up in a smile that Bucky's rarely seen. Another point goes to Steve.

 

The picnic in the new location goes well. While there's less room in the pagoda for play, the kids seem far more occupied with eating snack foods, looking out over the water, and trying to snag Steve's attention.

 

When it becomes clear that those that aren't as successful at talking to Steve are getting sulky about it, Denise suggests they head out to the verandah and all work together.

 

Bucky and Jarrod make sure every kid has some paper and drawing implements, and help everyone find a space. The smaller kids sit at the table, while the older kids sit along the bench seats, much better at balancing sketchpads on their knees. Bucky finds himself sitting next to Tyler, who has insisted Bucky needs to participate, too.

 

It's not meant to be any kind of formal lesson, but Steve finds himself standing in front of the picnic's entire attendance, all staring back at him expectantly.

 

For a moment, he seems unsure, and glances at Bucky. Bucky gives him a faint smile and mouths 'you got this'.

 

It seems to do the trick. Steve stands up straighter and loses the little crease from between his brows. He talks about how he forever had a pencil in his hand when he was young, and how much fun it can be to draw.

 

Bucky listens as Steve suggests some amusing subjects for pictures, and is impressed; they're _good_ exercises. Things like _find something in the environment that's your favourite colour, and draw it,_ or _draw your favourite animal doing your favourite activity,_ which results in some pretty hilarious mash-ups. _Use a colour that expresses your mood, and draw a flower_ causes a flurry of activity for the crayons, and _if the sun had a face, what do you think it would look like?_ makes for some seriously goofy expressions.

 

What's the most fun is that Steve insists the kids use the same page for each different exercise, which results in a really cute pastiche picture, with each child's vision being wildly unique.

 

Steve touches base with all of the kids at one point or another. Everyone gives it a try, even the kids who are less artistically inclined. They don't take it too seriously, but they'll get their chance to do active things a bit later, once they leave the pagoda. Some of the younger ones ask for Steve's help to draw things, while Steve offers technique advice to other kids who seem to be a lot more confident in their artwork. Bucky watches Steve not leave a single child out as he goes around, offering praise or constructive help to each one.

 

Jarrod passes his sketchbook to Bucky; his particular contribution to the sun task is nightmare-fuel, looking way too much like _Pennywise_ from Stephen King's _IT._ "Never show that to me again," Bucky says in disgust, flipping Jarrod's book shut on him.

 

After that, some of the children drift back under the pagoda to snack, others choosing to stay and draw whatever they like. Tyler stops drawing but stays next to Bucky, idly watching Steve as he sits at the table next to Ramone and picks up a pencil.

 

"I can't believe Steve Rogers is here," Tyler says to Bucky. "He's, like, really _here_. And he's..." Tyler screws up his face for a second, "--he's kinda _normal_."

 

Bucky smiles faintly. "Yeah. The more normal you treat him, the more he likes it."

 

Tyler takes to doodling back on his drawing. "I would've thought it'd be fun to be famous, though. You'd have people giving you stuff all the time, and get to go cool places."

 

"There's that, but then there's the fact that he doesn't get a lot of privacy. And people tend to always want something from him. Not too much of that 'free stuff' has no strings attached."

 

Tyler bites his lip. "Oh. Well, if he wanted to be normal I was going to ask him if he could help me with my history homework, but I guess he must get that all the time."

 

Bucky barks out a laugh, which draws Steve's attention for a moment. He makes eye contact with Bucky. Bucky smiles, but then focuses on Tyler again. "You're doing that Second World War unit now, aren't you?"

 

"Yeah, got a big paper due on just before Christmas," he says seriously. Bucky knows now that he's back at his old school and in his old classes, Tyler has knuckled down _hard_ to try and raise his GPA once again. He's been mentioning this unit in history on and off for months now. It's clearly an area he shows great interest in, and wants to do well.

 

Steve glances over again, and starts to approach. Tyler almost looks worried.

 

Bucky shrugs. "Well, there's nothing stopping you from asking, if you really want to, but I would try not to get your hopes up, okay?"

 

"Ask me what?" Steve says, sitting on the bench space on the other side of Tyler, having the fourteen year old between him and Bucky.

 

Tyler gives Bucky a panicked look, and Bucky returns half a shrug. "It's your choice, you can either ask, or not."

 

Steve lands his open, expectant gaze on Tyler, who ends up biting the bullet and asking Steve about his paper.

 

Steve doesn't seem bothered by the line of questioning, and offers Tyler some advice, even correcting a couple of facts as they speak. Showing he really is a bright kid, Tyler turns his drawing paper over and starts scribbling some notes on the back.

 

At one point, Steve is attempting to describe a section of the Alps that was particularly unforgiving to cross. To get his point across, he automatically takes the pad and pencil and starts sketching it out. Bucky and Tyler are both fascinated at the speed in which the details begin to form. He makes some notes about Allied movements, and draws some arrows over the beautiful depiction of the mountains. In the end, he gives Tyler the drawing to include in his project, if he wishes. Tyler is blown away.

 

Bucky makes sure Steve signs the paper before Tyler leaves, admiring and thoughtful, to put the drawing away somewhere safe.

 

With Tyler gone, Steve and Bucky are alone, relatively speaking. Bucky leans his elbow on the verandah rail, resting his head in his hand, and gives a soft sigh.

 

"Everything fine?" Steve asks in a low voice, giving Bucky a quick appraising glance before looking out to the water. He's doing that a lot during the picnic; trying to cut down on the level of focus he generally pays Bucky. Really, only Denise knows they're together, and ideally they'd like to keep it that way.

 

At least for the time being.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky says truthfully, giving him a little smile. "It's... a _lot_ to be here, but it's good. I'm good." He gives Steve a little slap on the arm. "How about _you_ , though? Giving the kids exercises already!"

 

Steve's brows furrow. "I hope it was okay. I did some reading this week, looked at those resources you and Denise suggested. I guess," he squeezes the back of his neck and smiles self-deprecatingly, "I wasn't really expecting to _use_ it just yet. It was pretty... fly by the seat of my pants."

 

"You did great," Bucky assures him. "Everyone was engaged to the level they were comfortable with, it was fun and it got them to think and be creative. Win-win-win."

 

"Yeah, well, despite rumours to the contrary, I don't actually jump out of planes without parachutes," Steve remarks sassily.

 

"Sure you do," Bucky argues.

 

"Nope," Steve says. "Can't say I have."

 

"But... I'm sure," Bucky says, and Steve shakes his head again. "No. I've brought it up heaps and you've never refuted it before. _Why_ have you never refuted it before?" he asks, mystified.

 

Steve shrugs. "Seemed like you had a lot of fun making it a lynchpin in arguments. It was a bit amusing, and it didn't bother me..." He laughs at Bucky's incredulous face. "You _really_ think I couldn't spare ten seconds to slip on a parachute?"

 

"My whole world is askew," Bucky bemoans. "So wait... if that's not true, does that mean you didn't really punch the tank?"

 

Steve bites his lower lip. "Uh... no. That's still true."

 

"Aaaaaand everything has righted itself once again," Bucky smiles. "But I'll have you know, I'm never telling anyone this."

 

"Whatever you say, Buck," Steve says amiably.

 

They both look up when Jarrod approaches. "Any of you gents want a coffee? Dee is brewing some for the over-eighteens."

 

Both Steve and Bucky nod, though Steve also rises. "I'll go bring some over." He turns to Jarrod politely. "Anything I should know about the way you have your coffee?"

 

"Lots of creamer, and two sugars," he says with a grin, like he can't quite get over Steve asking him.

 

"Got it." He smiles, flashing a slightly bigger one at Bucky. "Be right back."

 

Both of them watch Steve weave through the kids and stand politely at Denise's shoulder.

 

Jarrod flops down on the bench next to Bucky and jerks his head towards the covered area. "He's not what I expected when Dee told me he'd be coming."

 

Bucky watches Steve hold mugs steadily as Denise pours hot liquid into them. They share a laugh, and there's something warm inside Bucky's chest. "I'll second that," he agrees.

 

"So... not to change the subject, but I'm changing the subject," Jarrod says. "Getting back into things?"

 

"Well as can be expected," Bucky replies mildly, stretching his shoulders. "It's been... shitty and uphill, but yeah. Moving forward."

 

"That's good... hey. How's your guy doing? Still together?"

 

Bucky pauses and gives Jarrod a weighty glance. "I know that's a pretty ballsy question," Jarrod says, with genuine honesty. "But with everything that's happened... I hope he was good enough to stick it out for you."

 

And... _fuck_ is it personal, and a _little_ bit of a fishing expedition, but it's also a really sincere. Bucky's known Jarrod long enough to know when he's stopped bullshitting.

 

"Yeah," Bucky answers eventually, giving Jarrod a weak smile, "he did, and we are."

 

"I'm real glad," Jarrod says.

 

They're interrupted by Steve returning. He hands Jarrod a mug, proclaiming it to be full of cream and sugar, and wordlessly passes a mug to Bucky. The coffee is hot, and perfect. Steve opens his mouth to speak, but then a shrill voice calls him.

 

They all turn to see Vanessa good-naturedly rolling her eyes at them and gesturing to Georgia, who is using both hands to beckon Steve.

 

He gives an amused, bashful grin at Bucky, and apologises, before leaving for the kids again.

 

Bucky watches him go before Jarrod takes up the conversation again. "So, the boyfriend. 'Steve', wasn't it?"

 

A faint alarm bell chimes in the back of Bucky's head. "Yeah," he answers, voice deliberately light.

 

"Ex-army, hot-- hotter than _me_ , I think you said-- currently working in some kind of government law enforcement..." He's watching Bucky carefully, chin tilted down, one eyebrow just barely arched.

 

Bucky looks at Jarrod shrewdly. "I know what you're implying," he says sternly.

 

"And am I wrong?" Jarrod counters mildly.

 

Bucky holds their eye contact for a long time. The longer he holds it, the harder it is to refute. God _damn_ it.

 

Jarrod's face isn't smug or accusing, however. He's giving Bucky a friendly and gentle smile, and that's somewhat vaguely reassuring.

 

Bucky's shoulders slump minutely, cheek squinting one eye in a wince. "Is it obvious?"

 

Jarrod's grin grows a little at the confirmation, but doesn't otherwise react. "Na, not at all. If we hadn't spoken about it at the bar a while back, I might not have thought about it at all, but there were a few nuggets of information there that just seemed to match up..." Jarrod shrugs one shoulder. "You're obviously comfortable around one another, and he looks at you a lot; when he gets stuck, but also just generally.

 

"What convinced me, however, was that he knew how you take your coffee without asking," Jarrod finishes, and he does let a _tiny_ bit of smug through at that statement.

 

Bucky sips his perfect coffee. "Damn," he says, with surprisingly little malice.

 

Jarrod laughs, before his brow furrows curiously. "Does anyone else know? I mean, I can't be the only one... right?"

 

"You're not," Bucky confirms. "Denise knows--"

 

"Dee? When?" Jarrod interrupts.

 

Bucky thinks over the facts quick and fast, before deciding on how to present it to Jarrod; lies or inaccuracies will get forgotten or contradicted.

 

"I didn't know the grant Dee applied for was for Stark Industries until after we were successful. When I found out, I worried it would look conflict-of-interests-bad, and... well, I'd talked to Steve about how we'd been struggling, and wasn't sure if it was a coincidence or not. So it involved speaking to Steve to make sure he wasn't involved in the decision-making of the grant, and informing Dee in case there was going to be a problem." Bucky takes another sip of coffee. "Turns out it all came down to Dee's amazing proposal-writing skills."

 

"I'd believe that in a heartbeat," Jarrod agrees wholeheartedly. "So it really was just a coincidence?"

 

"Yep," Bucky says, popping the 'p'. "Anyway, Dee knows, as does my immediate family, and Steve's co-workers--"

 

"You mean the Avengers know?" Jarrod interrupts again.

 

"They _are_ who he works with," Bucky says, mildly amused.

 

"So... you've been introduced to Tony Stark as 'The Boyfriend'?" Jarrod asks with wide eyes.

 

"Eh," he makes a 'so-so' gesture with one hand. "I'm not his biggest fan, but we'll get there, I suppose."

 

Jarrod lets out a loud laugh. "Shut up," he says. "Only you could be all picky about meeting one of the most famous dudes in America."

 

"My ears are burning," Steve says as he returns, a questioning smile on his face.

 

Bucky smirks. "Oddly enough, not every conversation about one of the most famous dudes in America is about _you_ ," he remarks.

 

Jarrod stifles a laugh and Steve looks betrayed. "I know we've just met, Jarrod, but I thought you were on my side. You know, even forgiving your teen girl moments, and all."

 

"Wow," Jarrod shakes his head.

 

"You haven't lived until you've had Steve Rogers give you a sassy guilt-trip."

 

"So I see," Jarrod says. He grins, flicking his gaze from Bucky to Steve, probably looking at them having had his suspicions confirmed. He wonders if they look any different.

 

Steve sits next to Bucky on the bench, facing him and Jarrod.

 

They spend a moment in amicable silence before Bucky turns to Steve and touches the back of his hand. If Jarrod knows, Steve deserves to _know_ he knows. Steve looks at Bucky curiously, blue eyes circumspect with the unexpected familiar touch.

 

"Steve, he knows," Bucky says gently. To Steve's credit, surprise only briefly flashes over his face before it's smothered by polite blankness, jaw set.

 

He looks at Bucky, the beginning of a worry frown creasing his brow, and turns his hand over on his knee. Bucky takes the offered hand, interlacing their fingers together. With the way Steve's sitting, his body is blocking anyone else's view.

 

"It's okay," Bucky assures him. "Jarrod has terrible dress sense--"

 

"Hey!"

 

"--but good instincts. And I trust him."

 

Bucky doesn't say those words lightly, and both Jarrod and Steve seem to regard him with a long look; Jarrod seems surprised and humbled, Steve cautious, but trusting.

 

Jarrod clears his throat. "Look, you're not being obvious by any means, I just had some good information and made an educated guess. Also, you were betrayed by coffee."

 

It takes Steve a moment to process that information, but he does, and answers back in the most Steve-like way. "How dare you. Coffee is sacred."

 

Jarrod laughs in delight. He's really getting a kick out of Steve's sense of humour, and Bucky is beyond glad that Steve's feeling comfortable to more or less act like himself.

 

"All kidding aside," Jarrod says, "it's all good. I'm really happy for you both. When he's not being an unwieldy curmudgeon, Bucky's a great guy."

 

This makes Bucky feel unaccountably shy for a moment, made worse by Steve squeezing his fingers and beaming one of those thousand-watt smiles. "I know," he says with confidence. It's so cute he feels mildly nauseated.

 

Jarrod looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or go 'awwww'. He opens his mouth to say something when Denise calls his name. Looking past Bucky and Steve, he gives a little sigh. "Okay, coffee break is over."

 

"Do you need any help?" Bucky asks, moving to get up.

 

"Na, finish your coffee. Come over when you're done."

 

He gives Bucky's shoulder a squeeze, and then stops short when Steve stands and holds out his hand. Jarrod takes it tentatively.

 

Steve shakes it slowly, giving Jarrod a sweet and sincere Steve-smile. "Thanks for being so supportive, Jarrod. We really appreciate it."

 

Jarrod is surprised, and Bucky thinks a little bit of that teen girl just got released. "No problems, Steve. I look forward to seeing you around." He flashes Bucky another quick smile before heading off to help Dee.

 

Steve sits back down and leans an elbow along the back of the bench. Bucky looks around to where the kids are. There are a few who are looking over at Steve and Bucky longingly, like they want to run over and interact, but Denise is purposefully giving them activities to do, giving Steve and Bucky a few more minutes of peace before they should really get back into it. Because Denise, as previously agreed upon, is an angel amongst mere mortals.

 

"Well... that went well," Steve says, mild surprise in his tone.

 

"If every reveal went like that? There'd be nothing to worry about," Bucky nods.

 

"I'm not worried about me," Steve says resolutely. "My life is just that -- _mine_ \-- and they can say what they like, it won't change me. But I never want you or your family to be dragged into anything awful, or adversely affected by public scrutiny of our relationship."

 

And it's one of the things that Bucky has come to appreciate most about the whole weird minefield that has been 'dating Steve Rogers' -- Steve's constant push-back to the public and the world at large, refusing to be less than himself, but still always trying to be thoughtful of those around him. Those he cares about.

 

Like his friends. Like the Barnes clan.

 

Like Bucky.

 

"I know," Bucky agrees. "All we can do is our best, and prepare for the worst."

 

Steve barks out a laugh. "That's reassuring," he comments sarcastically.

 

"I'm a super fucking supportive boyfriend," Bucky snarks back, eyes twinkling before he stands. "Come on, there's three kids trying to use Jarrod as a jungle gym. Let's go help him."

 

Bucky puts his hand out to help him up, and Steve takes it with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Steve/Tony's car: http://www.braithwaitesgarage.co.uk/images/landrover-evoque.png
> 
> * Steve bringing Bucky flowers is never not going to be awesome. 
> 
> * Bucky's getting better, but still feeling his way through his recovery. This is the first real opportunity he's had to have alone time with Steve. It didn't go to plan, but they got through it. Because they're trying to be transparent with one another. 
> 
> * The pagoda: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/46/Japanese_Hill-and-Pond_Garden%2C_Brooklyn_01.JPG or https://athomeinbrooklyn.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/brooklyn-botanic-garden-events-1500x609.jpg
> 
> * Where the torii is in relation to the pagoda: https://static01.nyt.com/images/2017/04/16/nyregion/16WIP4/16WIP4-superJumbo.jpg
> 
> * If you'd like to check out a photo of the torii, maybe visit [Steve's instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/stevefrombrooklyn/)
> 
> * Everything I know about toriis comes from reading the archie TMNT comics when I was younger. They were, quite surprisingly, rather accurate. 
> 
> * There is a marked difference in Bucky's speech and body language between the first part of this chapter and the second part. About a week has elapsed between them, and with Bucky being at home in his own space, but also with the assistance of Steve and the slightly longer-distance assistance (that rhyyyymes) of his family via phone calls/texts/probably at least one sister visit, he's coming back into his own. 
> 
> * POC - Point Of Contact
> 
> * there's a good deal of telling the truth just omitting certain details going on here. As Sarah pointed out to me, Bucky doesn't want to outright lie about time frames of Steve coming in contact with Denise, etc, because if it comes up at another time, or Denise says something, there might be contradicting stories. The easiest thing to remember is (a simplified version of) the truth. 
> 
> * So… I recently watched The First Avenger and Avengers back to back, and one thing I noted was that the two times I saw Steve jump out of a plane, he either pulled the ripcord for a chute, or deliberately grabbed one and strapped one on. And it made me go… durrrr. I've been trying to paint him as a tactician, but was using this as a joke. Tactically, you WOULDN'T jump out of a plane without one, that's just plain dumb. I decided to correct that, and make it so that Steve listened to people calling out his judgment about parachutes, and just never bothering to correct them. Sneaky troll. :)   
> ETA- I've just been reminded by a few readers that he does indeed jump out of a plane without a parachute at the beginning of the Lumerian Star mission in WS. I had forgotten! BUT can i say... because of the very nature of this very story, this is decidedly non-WS-compliant. So let's just pretend it didn't happen!
> 
> * Steve's suggestions aren't anything from an actual art lesson plan, I DIDN'T do any research into this because I didn't have time. It was just stuff I made up, and then Sarah helped because she's a boss. You all need to know that.
> 
> * Steve rescued Jarrod from being a jungle gym, only to become one himself. I'm guessing he can have at least seven kids hanging off him, minimum. 
> 
> * After the picnic, they packed out and went into the botanical gardens for a while. There were a few games of Statues and tag and football. They had a group photo taken, and then Bucky and Steve left a little before pickup time for the kids, so Steve wasn't waylaid by the parental pickup. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you once again for reading, friends. I appreciate it so much. If you spotted any errors, or wanted to drop me a comment letting me know what you thought, that'd be amazeballs. You know what to do! 
> 
> Now I have to go back to sewing a patch on a certain blue howling commando jacket. wooooooo.


	21. Dating (weeks 19-20)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Dancing Monkey  
> * The One Where Nothing Goes Right, Until It Does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Month of Halloween! Don't let the haters fool you into thinking it's for just one night... 31 Days of Halloween, baby. 
> 
> This chapter is officially going to put this story over 200k, and I can't even believe it. How. Why. And How. Thank you for your support and for sticking with it and for being so gracious and kind with your comments. Stucky fandom, you are seriously awesome. 
> 
> So... this is going to most definitely be my only output for October. I'm heading to Europe tomorrow for a holiday, and won't be back until the end of Oct. However... I'm taking my laptop, and I'm taking my notes, and I'm taking this file. Surely I will be able to get something done on a 24 hr journey, right? That's if I can bring myself to write Stucky on an aisle seat with people surrounding me (i'm super thingy about anyone looking over my shoulders when writing). But... I'll try. I kind of also have a Bucky one-shot (not related to ftf) in my head that the plane might give me the perfect chance to write out. We shall see! 
> 
> Chapter dedication threefold:  
> Sarah, for kicking my ass hard enough that this got finished before the trip. You are forever amazing. Forever my bestie. I just have a lot of feelings about you, okay?  
> Justine, for catching up to me at my last convention (while dressed as howling commando bucky, no less) and surprising the shit out of me by telling me you read this. HI I LOVE YOU.  
> Rexxy, because if my calculations are correct, you should've saved this file on your computer to read while on the plane to the US. So when you get to this section... HEY, YOU ARE QUALITY <3 You keep the stucky dreams alive and kicking.

* _The One With The Dancing Monkey_

_(Location: Steve's Apartment)_

"Swiss or American?" Steve calls out from the kitchen.

 

"Surprise me," Bucky answers, eyes not leaving his laptop screen.

 

"Swiss it is," Steve says, getting back to making lunch.

 

Bucky _has_ to look up at that. "Sort of the opposite of 'surprise me', then, isn't it?"

 

Steve potters around the kitchen. "I prefer to think of it as surprising you by bucking expectations, at the same time retaining the transparency that allows us to work so well together."

 

Bucky blinks slowly. "Wow. That was some impressive bullshit, Steve."

 

"Thanks," Steve answers with a grin before he goes to rummage in his pantry.

 

Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his email, where he's been in almost daily contact with Denise. Since the picnic, they've been discussing the circumstances and timeframe in which Bucky should return to work. Denise maintains Bucky can take more time if needed, but Bucky knows full well that Dee had been waiting for his input on potential candidates for the new positions, and everything's gotten delayed.

 

They have seemingly reached a compromise, in which Bucky's programs -- which at this stage of the year are mostly recreational -- are consolidated to one group activity a week, starting on Saturday. The rest are to be tabled until after the New Year.

 

He's making use of the extra time by fine-tuning his plans for next year, as well as looking over resumes for the new positions, and shortlisting potential candidates.

 

All of which can be done from home. Or indeed, Steve's home.

 

Steve had some important meeting in the morning, and left Bucky sleeping in his bed. Bucky got up leisurely later, mooched around in his pyjamas, and then started work. When Steve got home a little before twelve, he changed straight into comfortable clothes and started puttering in the kitchen.

 

A chime sounds, bringing Bucky's attention back to his email program, and his brow quirks up curiously. It's an email from Tyler, from his school account.

 

Bucky quickly starts to skim it, before he sees there are references to Steve, and stops. He looks up and catches the blond's eyes, giving him a small, warm smile and a quick head movement, gesturing for him to come over.

 

He tucks his feet up on the sofa, allowing an approaching Steve to sit down on the cushion next to him. Steve holds two plates with sandwiches, and places one on the coffee table closest to Bucky, resting the other in his own lap.

 

Bucky smiles gratefully for the sandwich. "Hey, so I have an email from Tyler, and it mentions you."

 

"Oh, what does it say?" Steve asks inquisitively before he takes a large bite out of his lunch.

 

Bucky's eyes dip to the screen again and he begins reading the text.

 

" _Hi Bucky,_

" _I finished my essay and handed it in. It's not marked yet but Mr Houston asked me to stay after class because he saw Steve's drawing and wanted to know if it was real. I told him it was, and showed him the picture of Steve and I you took at the picnic. He got all weird and excited, it was pretty funny! He said if I know Steve, if he ever wanted to come in and talk to my class, that would be great. I'm not going to ask him, though, Steve doesn't have to come to my school if he doesn't want to."_

Bucky pauses to smile at that; he knows that his words about everyone wanting things from Steve really struck a chord with Tyler. It's really sweet that Tyler's now taken Steve's wellbeing to heart. He continues reading.

" _The other kids in my class were really excited to find out I met Steve. Most people at my school like Iron Man or Thor, they don't think Steve is as cool as all that, especially after those videos we saw in gym. But now my history class thinks he's really cool!_ "

Bucky glances up with a half-smile that freezes on his face when he sees Steve's expression. It's awkward, a frown creasing his brow.

 

"Steve?" Bucky queries, "what is it?"

 

Steve meets Bucky's eyes, and Bucky can see the concerted effort he goes to to smooth his brow and open his expression more. "Nothing, Buck," Steve says in a deceptively mild voice. "Anything else in the email?"

 

Bucky glances down at the screen. "He thanks you for your help, and hopes he gets a good grade..." Bucky tilts his head to the side. "And whatever's got you making that face is _not_ nothing."

 

Steve drops pretence pretty quickly and gives a deep sigh. Bucky puts his laptop onto the coffee table and sits up straight, leaning towards Steve with intent.

 

"You promise you won't laugh?" Steve asks, trepidation heavy.

 

"Of course. So what is it?"

 

Steve puts his lunch to the side and runs a hand through his hair, which is a nervous habit he's picked up from Bucky. He leans one bent arm over the back of the sofa and leans on it, not quite meeting Bucky's eyes.

 

"So about... four years ago? After the Battle of New York, I got caught up in a lot of media. I was new to the twenty-first century and only been out of the ice for a few weeks before that, and then suddenly everyone knew I wasn't just some guy dressed in a suit; I was _the_ Captain America... and things got crazy. SHIELD wasn't designed to be a PR firm, they couldn't cope, so Stark's team sort of took me in.

 

"I first met Pepper about this time. She tried to help... she was getting sent so many requests as well as trying to run a business, and thought it would be a good idea for me to do at least a few of them. One invite that floated to the top fairly early was this offer to film mini videos for the New York State Education Department. I guess you'd call them public service announcements? They wanted me to read little things that they thought would help the kids out, and I... I _wanted_ to help." Steve wrings his hands together, and Bucky notices his knuckles go white. "They asked me to get suited up in that ridiculous thing Agent Coulson had a hand in designing, and I filmed maybe half a dozen."

 

Bucky nods warily. "Okay... so PSAs for kids in school. Why the reaction?"

 

Steve looks to Bucky then, his expression aggrieved. "They were _terrible._ I can't imagine any kid actually finds them in any way helpful. They're cheesy and talk down to them about gym, and detention, and their _changing bodies_ , for crying out loud, and -- God, Buck, I sounded like some clichéd fifties sitcom dad."

 

Bucky would probably spare a little chuckle if Steve didn't look so upset. He sits up straighter, resting his right hand against his face in an attentive pose.

 

"They kept telling me how to say the lines. I tried to say them like myself, but that wasn't good enough. They wanted me to act it out like the old show reels. _Me_ wasn't enough for them."

 

Steve finds invisible threads on his sweatpants to pick at. "They turned me into a caricature again, just like when I was on the USO circuit." He shrugs vulnerably. "I finally tapped out after about six. There were more but I faked some emergency and left. Told Pepper that I wasn't going to do anymore."

 

Bucky nods thoughtfully. "That was a pretty smart move... but I guess you feel like the damage was done?"

 

"Yeah. I mean, they still have them. And I didn't realise they were still playing them, which is quite frankly, horrifying."

 

Bucky reaches out to take one of Steve's hands. The contact seems to get a tremulous smile on his boyfriend's face. He takes a few moments to think about the situation, and rub the back of Steve's hand rhythmically with his thumb before he speaks. "I know that you've really been trying to be recognised as an individual outside the suit... Captain America is always Steve Rogers, but _Steve Rogers_ isn't always _Captain America_."

 

At this statement, Steve's back straightens a little, some of his gloomy expression dissipating. "I just feel so... helpless. They're constantly reinforcing what I'm always trying to justify to others who I'm not."

 

"People who don't know you?" Bucky clarifies, "because I'd wager that the people who _do_ don't think you're so one-dimensional."

 

Steve nods. "Of course. But," he smiles wryly, "there's a hell of a lot more people in this world who don't know me, than do."

Bucky chews on his lower lip. "You might feel helpless, but you're not. In very few situations are you truly left with no options."

 

Steve gives a world-weary sigh and rests his head on the back of the sofa cushion. "I thought about asking for their removal, but--" he stops himself, shifting on the cushion uncomfortably.

 

"But why?" Bucky says presently, when Steve fails to complete his sentence.

 

"It just seemed like vanity... and kind of self-centred to pull something like that. Even if they're embarrassing to me, they're serving _some_ purpose, I guess?"

 

"But you just said they're out-dated and cheesy. If they're not helping, and they're embarrassing to you, eighty-six 'em."

 

"That would leave the kids with nothing. I just wanted to help them."

 

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand, but he's mildly unresponsive. He's _really_ upset about these videos.

 

And Bucky won't voluntarily live in a world where Steve is upset about something that can be changed.

 

Bucky thinks fast. He is somewhat familiar with how the education department runs, having liaised with schools a number of times.

 

"Pepper's thorough," Bucky begins slowly, "so I'm assuming there might've been some agreement or contract about the terms of usage of these videos... call her and find out. Did you explain to her why you pulled out of them at the time?" he asks.

 

Steve shakes his head and looks mildly chagrined. "No. I-- I didn't really know her at all at the time. I said something about how I wanted to redirect to other projects? She didn't ask too many questions."

 

Bucky makes a thoughtful sound. "Look, Pepper seems an understanding woman who's very fond of you. If you tell her how you feel about them, I'm sure she'll help find a loophole, or figure out if there's a time-clause on their usage."

 

Steve's started to perk up a little. "You think there might be?"

 

"If anyone can find it, I'd put my money on her," Bucky states. "Did she know exactly what you were doing before you did it, did you get sent a script, or anything?"

 

"I don't think so," Steve frowns. "It was, as you can imagine, a pretty busy time for the Avengers and Stark Industries. Pepper was the only one dealing with this, and I'm not exaggerating when I say she was getting snowed under. When I got to the school where they were all filmed, I didn't get anything on paper. They just had cue cards written up for me and I read them cold."

 

Bucky shakes his head emphatically. "Okay, _fuck_ that shit ever happening again. You do anything like that in the future, you want script approval a week in advance and the ability to veto things, or it's off the cards. You have a voice, make them listen to it. If they don't like it, they don't get you, simple as that."

 

Steve eyes start to sharpen, narrowing focus, and Bucky knows he's thinking about the situation more seriously now. "That's good to apply from hereon in, but what can be done about _these_ videos?"

 

"I think Pepper will find a loophole. Pull 'em. And possibly destroy them, if they're as bad as you say they are." Bucky gives a small smile. "Bonfires are fun."

 

Steve looks like he wants to agree, but something's holding him back. "But... I'm still left with the problem of the schools having nothing."

 

"No offense, Steve, but that's the least of your concerns."

 

"None taken, Buck, but it _is._ " Steve shuffles forward, so his knees touch Bucky's, jaw set stubbornly. "The original idea is still good, my desire to help kids is still there. The execution was... shitty, but it was _something_. I can't take the stupid things away and leave them with nothing." Bucky opens his mouth to interrupt, but Steve holds a palm up, stopping him. "It's not about me being worried that I'll appear petty to other people, it's about me feeling petty about _myself_."

 

Bucky doesn't think he's ever met another person like Steve in his entire life: This selfless, this genuine. _This_ is the guy that his history book told him jumped on a grenade not knowing it was a dummy.

 

Steve doesn't care about his appearance in regards to his perceived respect level or status, he cares about being helpful, relevant, _genuine._

 

And like a light turning on in a dark room, Bucky has an idea.

 

"So do new ones," he blurts out. Steve blinks slowly at him, unwavering gaze on his face.

 

"What do you mean?" he asks deliberately.

 

Bucky punches Steve gently in the thigh. "You _know_ what I mean. Film new ones. Film new PSAs as Steve Rogers and make them relevant. Hell, _write them yourself._ "

 

Bucky bounces a little on the sofa, warming to the idea. He has Steve's undivided attention as he formulates his thoughts into something cohesive. "They sprung this on you when you were fresh out of the 1940s and probably hadn't even _seen_ a kid from the twenty-first century yet, right? You've now got four-plus years of living here to lean on, you've got to have an idea of what children need to hear, or should be hearing about. Hell, if you have any doubts, my outreach provides a ready-made focus group with a broad demographic."

 

Steve jumps up off the sofa, spurred into movement. He begins pacing in front of the coffee table. "I could _ask_ the kids what's important to them, what they wish adults would tell them about!" he exclaims.

 

"Damn right," Bucky enthuses. "You also have access to some professionals in the field who are more than happy to help out to make sure you're hitting the right notes, like Dee--"

 

"--or you?" Steve asks, gesturing to him.

 

Bucky sucks on his bottom lip for a moment. "Yeah, yeah definitely."

 

Steve angles his body completely towards Bucky, hands clasped together in supplication. "Would you help me? If you have the time, if you want to..." He pauses for a moment, getting his words together. "I have never met anyone who relates to children like you do. You're supportive and fun, and honest, but never to the point of unkindness, and you never talk down to them. More than anyone else, I respect your opinion."

 

It's not that the request comes from Captain America, or his boyfriend... it's that it comes from someone he himself admires and respects, to do something he loves and is good at; helping children.

 

Bucky knows Steve's still new to asking for assistance. And with this, _he_ gets to be the one to help _Steve_ for a change.

 

Fucking hell, how could _anyone_ refuse a request like that?

 

"I'd be happy to," he says sincerely. "This is something that really aligns itself with the work the outreach tries to do in schools; provide information and support to children who need guidance."

 

Steve flops back on the couch next to Bucky, a wondering smile on his face. "There are so many things I could talk about. Diversity, tolerance, standing up for those weaker than yourself..."

 

"...Respect," Bucky continues, "not giving up even if you're going through tough times..."

 

"...I like that. Kindness... Doing your best to be healthy and active." Steve pauses there, something making him stop. He screws up is nose, almost like he's smelling something bad. "I had to do an awful gym one, which I struggled to make sense of, personally. I had so many health issues growing up. Little Steve Rogers wouldn't have related to that much at all." He gives a sad shrug. "I tried to ask about it, but they just wanted me to read off the cards."

 

That annoys the _shit_ out of Bucky on Steve's behalf, but he suppresses his irritation. "So you personalise it," he says instead, " _Yes_ , it's important to be healthy, but some things are out of your control. It's okay if your best isn't as much as what others can do."

 

Steve gives Bucky a marvelling smile. "You're really good at this."

 

"This is my wheelhouse, Rogers," he smiles back, "I've given that speech fifty times."

 

Steve runs a soft finger over Bucky's cheekbone. "Little Steve Rogers would've loved to have heard that," he says quietly, "maybe he wouldn't have felt like he needed to prove himself all the time."

 

Bucky turns and presses a kiss to Steve's finger. "But without that, you might not be be sitting in front of me right now. The past is the past, help the present, for the future."

 

Leaning forward, Steve plants a tender kiss on Bucky's lips. It's sweet and gentle, and filled with warm affection. Bucky's eyes flutter shut for the briefest moment.

 

Steve sighs as he pulls away. "All this content is great, but I'm worried the uniform will end up just being a distraction to everything I'm saying."

 

Bucky arches an eyebrow. "I never mentioned the uniform."

 

"But I--"

 

"But what?" Bucky counters. "You want to be seen as a person, right? Be who you are, wear what you want. You could wear the uniform if you want. You could wear a t-shirt with your shield printed on it. You could wear sheep pyjamas and bunny slippers. It's _your choice,_ Steve, and that is the whole point."

 

Bucky physically sees the exact moment the lightning strikes. Steve's eyes widen, his expression opens up fully, no more frowns or wrinkles. "It's my choice."

 

"Damn right," he pauses and adds as a sassy afterthought, "this is America."

 

Steve laughs delightedly, as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He shuffles forward and presses one bent index finger underneath Bucky's chin, the other hand sliding in to rest gently on Bucky's waist. Steve leans in to press a soft sequence of kisses on his lips They're sweet and addictive, and it takes Bucky no time at all to respond.

 

Pulling away slowly, Steve rests their foreheads together, fingers buried in the short lengths of Bucky's hair. "Thank you," he says softly. "For not thinking it's stupid. For helping."

 

Bucky pulls back and takes Steve's hands gently in his own once again. "It's something that's important to you, so it automatically makes it important to me, too. And I'm glad this falls within my power to be helpful."

 

Steve is looking searchingly into his face, and there's a surge of emotion in Bucky's chest that makes his heart thump. The fact is, there's not a lot he _wouldn't_ do for this man.

 

Bucky bites his lip. Everything in his mind is quiet, calm. He looks into Steve's face, and he knows what he wants to say.

 

"Steve--" Bucky starts, but his words are cut off by a shrill sound. Steve's phone.

 

Steve jolts back, and glances at the caller ID. His eyes widen momentarily. "It's Pepper."

 

Bucky gives him an encouraging smile and releases his hands. "No time like the present, then; talk to her."

 

With a hopeful smile, Steve picks up his phone as he stands, and connects the call.

 

As he walks away, already deep in conversation with Pepper, Bucky sighs quietly and rests his head against the back of the couch.

 

 _So close._ But the moment is broken.

 

He shrugs to himself. The right time will present itself once again, he knows it. Bucky watches Steve pace back and forth for a minute, animatedly talking to Pepper. With a fond shake of his head, he reaches to the coffee table to grab his laptop, and gets back to work.

 

***  
  
_The One Where Nothing Goes Right, Until It Does_

_(Location: Bucky's office / apartment)_

Bucky's just having one of those days.

 

Unfortunately, it's coinciding with his second day back at work, which is hardly convenient.

 

First, his sleep was a little broken and disjoined; not a _bad night,_ but not restful.

 

Babushka is inexplicably needy, and spends the morning weaving between Bucky's feet, tripping him up at least three times. He scolds her, which makes her go hide in the sofa cushions, blinking betrayed green eyes at him, making him feel like shit.

 

Then he's trying to make coffee, and his machine responds with a weird, grinding noise. And coffee is not forthcoming. Bucky doesn't know what's wrong with it, and has neither the time nor the patience to try and fix it. So he packs his things and heads out a bit early, just before lunch.

 

Feeling like he's not emotionally able to handle the subway without coffee, Bucky drives to the outreach, eminently thankful he's only working a half-day. He finds a space about four blocks away from his office, which is shitty, but it does mean he's closer to Starbucks than further away.

 

The Starbucks is noisy, and loud. The dude standing behind him has absolutely no concept of personal space, and is making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He texts Steve of his displeasure, who sends him an encouraging selfie of himself in a SHIELD black tac suit, giving him the thumbs up from some generic office bathroom.

 

This balances his mood marginally, but the effects are short-lived. It takes Bucky a little too long to get his coffee, and when he does, the lid isn't quite secure and it splashes on his sweater.

 

Bucky trudges to the office and rinses the sweater as best he can under the faucet -- but there's still a pale coffee watermark -- and sits at his desk.

 

Things have piled up since he's been gone, and he's still sifting through various bits of paperwork that have been left on his desk. Vanessa offers to help, but these are all his personal files, it'll be just easier in the long run if he does it himself. He texts Steve his desk filled with papers, and him not-so-subtly flipping them off.

 

Rory keeps walking through the bullpen, popping his gum. It's a small thing, but it's vastly irritating.

 

But Bucky's doing okay, relatively speaking. He and Steve keep their text exchange up during the day while he's running training exercises with government agents. And Rory's annoying, yes, but Bucky's making minor headway into his paperwork, and the popping ceases to be a problem when Dee asks him into her office to help with interviews.

 

They're not Bucky's favourite thing to do by a long shot, and that's even when he's feeling 100%, so to be sitting there feeling slightly rumpled and shitty about his life choices in general is tough. But Denise wants his help, and the more input Bucky has now, the fewer problems they're likely to have in the future after hiring the wrong candidate.

 

Just before the process begins, he texts Steve about the interviews. Steve replies with a picture of his lunch, which looks like some weird, fancy focaccia bread, with all the black olives -- that he knows Steve hates -- picked off and on the side of the plate.

 

_Steve: Why shouldn't you insult Italian bakers?_

_Bucky: Do I knead to know this?_

_Steve: Because they'll beat the Focaccia :)_

It's a hideous pun, but it does lighten Bucky's mood as he gets his paperwork in order for the interviews. 

 

The first few don't go too badly. An older woman with ten years experience working with kids in Portland is a good contender. A young man who's fresh out of study has decent credentials, but little experience. He might not have the wherewithal to cope with some of their cases, and Bucky knows that if he had at least a year experience somewhere, it would make him a far better candidate.

 

There's a young woman who has few qualifications, but a lot of experience. Bucky greenlit her interview because there was something about it on paper that deserved a try, and she turns out to be an excellent interview. The lack of formal qualifications are an issue, but she has a few less-important certificates that would stand her in good stead to be eligible for entry in a part-time course that would get her up to speed.

 

After each interview, which lasts approximately half an hour, Bucky and Denise have chat and compare notes about the candidates. Then there's the waiting for the next interviewee, and the same pleasantries to be had each and every time... and Bucky is getting tired.

 

It's tough to be thrown straight back into interview processes, which sort of require him to be engaged with the proceedings in the maximum sense of the word, and he clearly is _not._ Dee doesn't seem worried about how Bucky's coming across, but Bucky is. He doesn't want to appear as though he's not giving the men and women his undivided attention, but he's starting to struggle.

 

In the break between the third and fourth interview, he texts Steve again.

 

_Bucky: Tell me something funny that will help me focus on appearing not-awful to these people._

 

He doesn't get a reply before their fourth candidate arrives. The first three were all reasonably good interviews, Bucky's level of engagement notwithstanding.

 

And then... there's Leon Davis.

 

On paper, Leon is perfect. He's late twenties, got his psych degree, and has previously volunteered, and then worked in similar organisations such as theirs in D.C and Jersey. Denise has already spoken to him briefly on the phone and found him to be seemingly upbeat and charming.

 

His body language over the course of the interview tells them a vastly different story.

 

Bucky initially finds Leon's gaze lingering a little too long on Vanessa when she lets him into Dee's office, which draws his attention. He's wearing a pretty sharp suit, hair immaculately combed back, and seems off put by Bucky's comfortable jeans and sweater combination; and Bucky _already_ feels self-conscious about the faint coffee stain he's got on the front. That combined with some off-the-cuff remark about Jarrod's fashion sense -- which they all know is abysmal and love him anyway for -- leaves Bucky decidedly suspicious.

 

He knows Denise is noticing a few of the same things he is from the uber-professional way her hands are folded in her lap, and the smile she gives Leon without teeth.

 

Bucky's brain is beginning to pulse heavily behind his eyes. The more Leon talks about how great he is -- too many 'I' statements, Leon -- the more Bucky's hackles rise. There's evidence for Bucky's apprehension, but more of it is just carried by a _feeling_ about the guy. He doesn't think he'd trust him as far as he could throw him, and that's definitely a problem. He shifts in his chair.

 

Bucky knows interviews are about selling yourself, but if Leon would just stop talking for five fucking seconds, he or Denise could redirect and either get to something relevant, or get rid of him.

 

A gentle buzz in Bucky's pocket alerts him to a new text. It's likely to be Steve, and in that moment, Bucky could really use some of his boyfriend's energy.

 

He slips his phone out of his pocket and briefly glances at the screen without unlocking it.

 

_Steve: I just had the potential recruits believing for twenty minutes that I thought the microwave was a television, and I'd never heard of Starbucks._

 

Bucky can't help snorting a quiet chuckle that he quickly stifles. He pockets his phone again and looks up to meet a disdainful expression from Leon. His smile falls away quickly.

 

"If you're done," Leon states in a mildly derisive tone, "perhaps we could get back to my interview."

 

Bucky side-eyes Denise. "I beg your pardon?" he asks, not quite believing the attitude.

 

Leon scoffs. "I _was_ talking about a previous placement in D.C. as--"

 

"--a senior counsellor alongside your colleague, Jennifer Romany, in the district of Georgetown." Bucky gives a small, controlled smile. "I heard everything you said."

 

"I assure you, Mr Davis, we are _all_ highly skilled at multi-tasking, including James," Denise says pleasantly, but Bucky knows her tone lacks that signature warmth usually present. Bucky's glad in that moment she defaults to James; this dickbag's already made him feel bad about his clothes and checking his phone, he'd probably try and make Bucky feel bad about his nickname, _too_.

 

Leon looks sullen, but can't argue the point. "Look, Ms Isles, I'm going to level with you right now--"

 

"I'd appreciate the honesty," Dee interrupts.

 

Leon shifts in his chair. "Jersey isn't an interesting place for me to work. I want more challenges, so I decided to come to New York. Out of all the places I looked at, yours has made some good connections in the last month, so I decided to choose here."

 

Bucky's jaw tightens instantly, because as transparent as Leon has been over the course of his interview, he is finally dumb enough to say exactly what he's really here about. Bucky takes a second to flick his glance sideways to Denise, who gives a short nod in return.

 

Leon gestures to his resume that Bucky holds, along with a few notes. "I'm young, and I'm qualified, and you're hardly going to find another candidate that meets your requirements. In D.C. I spent two years liaising with high profile donors much like the Howard and Maria Stark foundation, I know what it takes to get these large corporations to donate big."

 

There is a moment of silence where both Bucky and Denise _stare_ at Leon. Dee recovers first, rising, so as to prompt Leon to rise. "Well, thank you very much, Mr Davis. We'll be in touch."

 

Bucky only half-rises from his seat, and gives Leon the briefest of handshakes, before sitting again. Leon looks less-than-impressed, but Denise is being polite enough for both of them. He's lucky he got a handshake at all, but he did, because Bucky's a fucking _professional_.

 

Leon leaves and Denise follows to shut the door. Once it's closed, she turns and leans against it, giving Bucky an incredulous look. "That was unbelievable."

 

Bucky just shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "Way to play the jerk card early."

 

Walking back to her seat, she drags it to sit opposite Bucky. "Indeed," she agrees. "I think I know your opinion, but to play it by the book... formal thoughts about his interview for the files?"

 

Bucky says nothing, save to hand her the clipboard with paper he'd been note-taking on.

 

* _Seems distracted by cosmetic things_  
* Asked very few relevant questions  
* Interested in perks of the grant / networking / status  
* Talks about programs, but more from an administrative POV, less hands-on  
*  Barely mentioned children once. Does he even like them??? 

  
The last point is underlined several times. Denise gestures to the page and looks mystified. "You know, I have no idea." She crosses her hands in her lap. "I guess this is going to be a pretty short recap."

 

"What did _you_ think of him?" Bucky asks.

 

Denise holds one hand out, palm up. "The credentials were sound in theory, but it would be a difficult fit, to put it mildly. He makes it sound like _he's_ picking _us_ , not the other way around, and that's not a helpful attitude."

 

Bucky blows a sharp jet of air out of his lips. "I'd... worry about his ability for discretion. I say this about this company as well as from a personal, selfish standpoint. Given our recent ties to Stark's Foundation and the Avengers... to _Steve_... I wouldn't trust this guy not to use and abuse those connections at the drop of a hat."

 

"Agreed," Denise returns. "The Stark grant is big news and came with a bit of fanfare... but that's a rare occurrence; it's not our day-to-day operation to be invited to Avengers Tower to receive large novelty cheques. I feel like Mr Davis might resent that somewhat."

 

"Y'think?" Bucky snorts. "Pretty huge faux pas to shit all over one of the interviewer's outfits, and phone etiquette, too." Bucky knows he sounds bitter, and he fucking _is._ He's spent years in uncomfortable uniforms, and has earnt the God-damn _right_ to be comfortable at work, and he'll be damned if some entitled asshat is going to judge him for it.

 

He rubs his eyes tiredly. Despite Leon being in the wrong, that little dig at his clothes has gotten under his skin way more than it should've. It's just the day for it.

 

Dee touches his knee and shocks Bucky momentarily. "I'm sorry I startled you," she says gently. "Thank you so much for coming in and helping today. You can go home, if you like. That was the last interview."

 

It's a testament to how done Bucky is with the day that he doesn't offer any argument. Bucky gives his interview notes to Dee to file away, makes sure his desk is in some semblance of order, and heads out less than five minutes later. He texts Steve on the way out...

 

_Bucky: Shit day, will be home in 20._

 

...Only to be caught in rush hour, because he just can't catch a break. The trip home, which normally takes fifteen to twenty minutes, takes Bucky fifty-five. Buses everywhere, drivers who cut in front of him only to then travel ten under the speed limit, and one particular set of lights takes four changes to get through.

 

By the time he walks into his apartment, Bucky's feeling _exhausted_ , and in the mood to do nothing else.

 

Babushka gives him the cold shoulder in the kitchen, and he tries the coffee machine again, only to remember it stopped working in the morning, and he's _really_ done. He doesn't regret going back to work, per se, it's just been an emotionally arduous day. They happen sometimes.

 

Bucky throws himself on his couch, one arm flung over his eyes. He's still lying like that maybe twenty minutes later when he hears the lock at the front door turn.

 

His visitor's footfalls are quite quiet, but Steve's identity is given away by his gentle humming as he enters. Bucky shifts listlessly on the sofa, and doesn't intend on opening his eyes anytime soon until he smells it.

 

Coffee.

 

Bucky's eyes flicker open, and he can see Steve move calmly around his apartment in his peripheral vision; shucking off his shoes and coat, coaxing Babushka out of her funk, and somehow, already ninja-ing a paper coffee cup on the coffee table next to Bucky without him even realising it.

 

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Bucky reaches for the coffee and takes a fortifying sip. Steve glances over at him from the kitchen, where he seems to be rooting around in the cupboard for a snack. "Hey," he greets warmly.

 

Bucky gives him a non-committal acknowledgement around the mouth of the plastic lid.

 

"That good, huh?" Steve queries.

 

He takes a moment to swallow the warm mouthful before even trying to answer. "Forgot my machine was on the fritz when I got home. Needed caffeine to function."

 

Steve nods in agreement before idly wandering over to the bench with the coffee maker, box of cookies in his hand. He sets it on the counter top and pokes at the machine idly.

 

There's a little clank and Steve pulls back, briefly surprised, before the machine starts to gurgle and percolate like normal. Bucky's mouth falls open, an inexplicable jolt of irritation -- not gratitude -- lancing through him.

 

"How. How did you--" he starts.

 

Steve shrugs, before turning the machine off at the wall. "There was a spring at the back? It was poking out. I just pushed it and... I think it was obstructing something."

 

So it was something so _fucking minor_ that a touch in the right spot fixed it. He should've been able to see that. Why didn't he _see_ that?

 

Well, at least he has a working coffee machine again, but that doesn't necessarily wash the stain out of the front of one of his favourite sweaters. Bucky shakes his head and curses as Steve comes to sit next to him on the sofa, coffee and cookies in hand. He offers the box to Bucky, who reaches in and grabs a few.

 

"So your day sort of sucked," Steve begins.

 

"Big, hairy, donkey balls, Steve," Bucky states, affording Steve a little frown that he doesn't even mean when the blond can't stifle a smile at his turn of phrase.

 

If he's being honest, he's had _way_ worse days, they just usually weren't his second day back at work after taking some enforced leave. He's kind of sorry he got out of bed this morning, but Bucky would probably feel worse if he hadn't gone to work. The interviews needed to be done, his paperwork needed to be sorted, and maybe if he hadn'tve been there, _Leon_ would've turned on the charm and gotten past Dee, and then--

 

He's shocked out of jumping over his mental hurdles by Steve's hand coming to rest lightly over the back of his. "I could tell you about my day, if it helps?"

 

Hearing about someone else's day practically feels like a vacation from his own mind, so he nods. Steve settles into the cushions of the sofa a little more comfortably, and starts speaking.

 

Something Bucky loves about Steve is the cadence of his voice when it's just them in his apartment, and Steve's speaking. His tone is often gentle, coloured with humour and personality. He speaks from his heart, whether it's a serious or a frivolous topic...

 

... and Bucky realises he's tuned out listening to the exact words, and should probably pay better attention.

 

"--ew recruits are from a few different government agencies. Hill actually thinks they're testing us, because the individuals they've sent..." Steve shakes his head. "Let's just say there's more than a few interesting notations in their personnel files. So it's no surprise that they're trying to give me a hard time."

 

Bucky frowns. "They've sent you troublemakers on purpose?"

 

"Seems like. Rabble-rousers, people who are constantly questioning every single move. One guy told me I was wearing the wrong kind of boots."

 

"Ballsy fucker," Bucky comments, focusing on how Steve's fingers keep skating over the skin on the back of his left hand. "So what did you do?"

 

Steve gives him a secretive grin. "Well, I just gave it right back to them. I told you about the microwave bit, right?" Bucky nods. "Well, I also caught one of the attendees playing games on their phone while I was speaking. Ended up holding out the wastepaper bin and confiscating all phones after that."

 

"Serves them right," Bucky can't help letting out a small chuckle, because he can _see_ Steve standing there, in a SHIELD tac suit, getting grown men and women to put their phones into the trash.

 

Steve grins. "There was a practical portion to the day, and riding on my unpopularity from the phone debacle, there was a little bit of dissention about the exercises that needed to be done."

 

There's a particular cheekiness to the way Steve is telling his story, and Bucky is immediately suspicious. "Uh oh. What did you do?"

 

"Nothing much," Steve shrugs. "Just... maybe I threw a smoke bomb into their midst when they were arguing about how they weren't going to follow orders."

 

Bucky stares at Steve incredulously. "A smoke bomb."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Into a group of highly trained government operatives."

 

"To be fair, I _did_ warn them to expect the unexpected," Steve remarks cheerfully. "One of the reasons SHIELD has me taking potential recruits fairly early is that many of them have a certain mindset about what SHIELD -- and myself -- are like. The sooner I smash that and get them to realise that neither are what they thought, the quicker we can move on and get some _actual_ work done."

 

Bucky finds himself coming up woefully short to that. By all accounts Steve has had a _much_ more trying day than he has, but he sailed through it with far more good humour and aplomb than Bucky was able to cobble together with his minor setbacks: Bringing coffee when he knew the machine was busted, then fixing said machine, and generally being thoughtful to a fault.

 

 

It's slightly maddening, and he's annoyed. Not at Steve, more at himself, for lacking composure. His irritation ends up bubbling out of him quite suddenly.

 

"How do you fuckin' do it, Steve?" he asks, mystified.

 

"Do what?" Steve asks.

 

"How do you keep yourself so together when people are doing their level-best to bring you down? I just--" He stops for a moment, exhaling noisily and looking at their hands. "I don't know how you don't get more frustrated."

 

Steve is looking on him kindly, gaze open and clear. "Oh, I definitely do," Steve assures him. "I struggle with keeping positive some days, it's not always easy. But lately it's _felt_ a bit easier because I love you, and that's really grounding for me."

 

Bucky gives one, two, three shallow nods as he contemplates Steve's words, until his entire last sentence catches up with him.

 

Heart beating a little faster, his eyes snap to Steve's. For his part, Steve just returns the gaze calmly, projecting peace and affection and maybe a little bit of expectation.

 

Bucky knows he should say something, _needs_ to say something. And with all his agreement on the topic, the first thing to pop into his head is:

 

"Steve, you did _not_ just tell me you love me whilst I was balling you out..."

 

Steve gives an impish smirk. "Well if _that's_ what you call a balling out... it was kind of on the weak side."

 

Bucky lets out a surprised laugh. "You're such an asshole!" he exclaims.

 

"I think you'll find that's _Captain_ Asshole," Steve returns.

 

Bucky starts laughing softly, shoulders jerking up and down. Steve's grip tightens slightly on his fingers, thumbs still rubbing over tendons on the backs of his hands.

 

Bucky's never felt so calm and settled, but at the same time jangly-nerved and frenetic. He knew this already; _knows_ this already. It's different to hear it officially, though.

 

It's _great_ to hear it officially.

 

Bucky stops laughing, but the happiness he feels leaves a serene smile on his face. "Hey, Steve?"

 

"Yeah, Buck?"

 

"I love you, too."

 

Steve gives him the sweetest smile Bucky thinks he's ever seen. Radiant and achingly beautiful. "Thanks for saying it back."

 

Steve slowly pulls Bucky to him, enveloping him in a tight hug. He nuzzles at Bucky's cheek, until Bucky turns his head and they share a kiss that has his toes tingling.

 

One kiss turns into two, and three, and four. Somewhere between five and eight, Bucky pulls away far enough to look into Steve's eyes. "Just so you know," he says, voice suspiciously gravelly, "I was going to tell you the other day, but Pepper called."

 

Steve cocks an eyebrow. "It's not a competition, Buck," he admonishes.

 

Bucky raises both eyebrows dubiously at the comment. "Are you kidding me, Captain Competitive?" Bucky pulls away from Steve enough to push him gently onto his back on the sofa, before lying atop him. The warmth radiating from Steve's body is a familiar comfort.

 

"I don't care for that nickname," Steve huffs, a smile tugging at his lips, hands going around Bucky's waist.

 

Bucky places his hands on Steve's cheeks and gets close enough so their noses brush. "You know what? Fight me."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The outreach doesn't give out phone numbers of the counsellors to kids under a certain age, but everyone has their preferred contact's email address. All Bucky's kids have his email that they can msg at any time, and he will reply. 
> 
> * I need to make mention of the most amazing analogy that Sarah made when betaing this. She drew comparisons between Peggy and Bucky. Peggy helped Steve see himself as something other than the dancing monkey in Italy, helped him action that, after it became clear to him that peddling to the men and women at home and presenting his show to actual soldiers was vastly different. Bucky does the same thing here and now, helping set Steve on the right path. They're each helping Steve out of this sticky situation and onto the right path. It was really poignant to me, and honestly, hadn't occurred when I was writing. But it fits, and it's awesome. Steve has it bad for badass brunettes. 
> 
> * Eighty-six: One of my fave American slang terms, one I actually use. Nobody gets me, but I like it. I learnt it off an archie comic when I was growing up, ngl.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/86_(term)
> 
> * Sooooo Steve and Pepper have a really nice relationship in this fic, but it was probably a little awkward at the start, in some parts due to Tony's descriptions and opinions of Steve, and this incident. Pepper was too busy to look over any scripts or have firm guides of what the Dept wanted Steve for, she just 'loaned' him out (for want of a better word), trusting it was for a good cause. Yes, it was, but the execution left a LOT to be desired. When Steve came back and told her he wasn't going to do them anymore, and with Steve not being forthcoming about why, she found it sort of odd. I mean, why wouldn't Captain America want to help school kids? It probably never sat right with her. They ended up developing a nice and friendly relationship, though Pepper never could understand this choice. When Steve opens up to her about it, she will completely understand, and be MORE than happy to assist him to get them pulled/replaced. (She's going to love the revamped PSA idea.) What's more, it will remove that tiny mysterious niggle she's always had about Steve. Steve + Pepper: Bros4Lyf
> 
> * Bucky is a badass, too. 
> 
> * Given the opportunity to watch these things, Bucky would make the choice not to. He understands how much Steve hates and is embarrassed by them, and wouldn't want to compound that humiliation. Besides, that's not Steve, anyway. 
> 
> * It's a revelation to Steve that he doesn't have to do these things in uniform. I don't know whether this fic will ever him him refilming these in detail (it's not necessarily relevant to the overall story), so just in case... THESE ARE MY THOUGHTS ON THE MATTER:
> 
> * My initial idea was that he might do it in a shirt that has his shield on it, but the more I thought about it, the more gimmicky it felt. So he won't do that. He'll wear something like this, I imagine:  
> 
> 
> * For context, especially so younger kids can still relate him to cap, he's going to have his shield leaning next to the chair he sits in when he's talking. 
> 
> * And omg, even better, do you know what his opening line is? To make his point abundantly clear? 
> 
>  
> 
> _"My name is Steve Rogers, and my job is being Captain America."_
> 
>  
> 
> * I know the PSAs in Homecoming were designed to be funny, and yes, I did find them funny. And then I started to .. dun dun dun... think about them way too hard. Especially within the context of Steve in this fic. Firstly, to date, I've only read 2 fics that reference them, and they both made mention that these PSAs are more recent. To me, they're not. It seems a deliberate move to put Steve in the (HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE) Avengers movie costume, and not any of his others. I feel like it carbon dates these to a particular time, as I've mentioned above. I can't imagine Winter Soldier or AoU era Steve agreeing to do anything like this. This is the ONLY time I think he could've been coerced into doing it, and after a bit, I think he would've wised up.  
> And I just think... they're demeaning. They're facile and one-dimensional, and they're only ramming home everything that Steve hated about his time on the USO circuit and a pawn of Senator Brandt's. Do the smile, read the lines. And the more he lives in the world, if he thinks about them, the more he realises they are incredibly irrelevant to modern children.  
> TL:DR I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING FEELINGS ABOUT THESE STUPID PSAS. STEVE'S NOT A CARTOON, MOTHERFUCKERS. 
> 
>  
> 
> SO. My penchant for notes has gotten out of control. Notes for the 2nd part of this fic will be in the first comment on the chapter, because i don't want to mess with the story's actual word count. SORRYICAN'TSHUTUP.


	22. Dating (week 21)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One Where Steve Meets The Family (Extended Family Christmas Edition)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg you guys. I'm so sorry it took so long to get this to you. It took a long time to get back into the rhythm of the story after my holiday. Without constant encouragement from Sarah, it just wouldn'tve happened. She is amazeballs. Honourable mentions to Rexy and Justine for answering random questions of mine, too. There are little stamps of you guys in here as well :D 
> 
> From this point, I'm trying very hard to spread the chapters out a little more in the timeline, so their story can progress at a bit of a faster pace. Because of the serious subject matter, there were a lot of chapters that spanned a relatively short amount of time. I don't regret that, because there were good stories there, but i'd like to see if I can get the ball rolling a little faster with milestones and things. 
> 
> Because basically, the further along they get, the sooner I can get to posting pics of Babushka on instagram. I'll admit. I want this to happen. http://www.instagram.com/stevefrombrooklyn
> 
> Thank you so much for your amazing feedback, comments, thoughts, kudos. I appreciate it so much. If you had the time to drop me a comment about this chapter (or anything else), please feel free to do so! If you want to take it off ao3, hit me up at http://tumblr.com/users/fannishflightsoffancy. 
> 
> On with the show!

 

**The One Where Steve Meets The Family (Extended Family Christmas Edition)**

 

**_(Location: Alan Barnes' family home, Steve's apartment._ **

 

 

"Look, if you just move your leg a little--"

 

"If I move my leg to the other side, Grace doesn't have enough room--"

 

" _I_ have longer legs than Grace. Don't you care about me anymore?"

 

"Bucky, stop being such a toddler. Next thing you'll be complaining I looked out your window--"

 

"Don't you _dare_ \--"

 

"If the back seat doesn't button it, I swear, I'm turning this car around and heading back home," George states abruptly, glancing into the rearview mirror to glare sternly at Bucky, Steve and Grace. It's a glare that has straightened up many a wayward Barnes child, and even Steve's shoulders roll forward in shame, though he wasn't doing anything wrong. Technically. 

 

Except for taking some of Bucky's legroom with his long giraffe-legs. 

 

Seeing Steve cowed by his father makes a stupid smirk break out on his face. Grace catches sight of it, and gives a delicate snort behind her hand. Bucky coughs, and it turns into a laugh, especially when Steve gives his thigh a pinch. 

 

Soon the back seat is laughing uproariously. George shakes his head, and Winnie pats his arm consolingly. "Laughter is better than the alternative," she soothes. 

 

It's Christmas day, and the Barnes family are heading to Queens, to George's older brother's house. Uncle Alan and Aunt Margaret's place was also the venue for Thanksgiving, but somehow they won the holiday lottery again, and Christmas celebrations are there, too. 

 

Given the nature of the travel, Bucky, Steve and Babushka all stayed at George and Winifred's on Christmas Eve. Bucky put Steve in a truly eyesore of a sweater, and they sat around the tree and drank eggnog and exchanged personal gifts. 

 

It seems Steve had been busy shopping in his downtime, because he generously showed up with gifts for Bucky's entire family. Bucky had told Steve it wasn't necessary, and that they wouldn't expect anything, but apparently, Steve did what he wanted. There were some box seat baseball tickets for his dad, and a new mix-master for his mom. They scolded him for being extravagant, at the same time hugging and thanking him fiercely for his thoughtfulness. 

 

For Grace, Steve went digging into his personal effects and found some documents from early SSR days -- nothing terribly earth-shattering, but they had Peggy's handwriting and, according to Steve, her distinct flair all over them. Gracie was speechless for a long time. Bucky watched her get completely overwhelmed and hug Steve for a solid minute, while Steve gently patted her shoulder. 

 

There were presents under the tree for Abi and Becca and Nick, and of course, Bobby and Izzy, but they'd have to open them another time. 

 

When it came time to exchange gifts with each other, Bucky felt reasonably confident he'd done well. It was a bit of a balancing act, trying to think of something nice, while trying to not be too extravagant. He thought Steve would be the kind of person to be into the idea of the sentiment counting for more than money spent. 

 

To that end, he bought two seminal albums on vinyl for Steve to play on his record player, and a new cologne whose scent reminded him of his boyfriend.

 

Steve ended up loving them all, and seemingly took the same care when selecting Bucky's gift; a new Kindle to replace Bucky's crappy old one, and a voucher for some new books. Bucky was touched that Steve remembered the conversation from a couple of months ago. 

 

They went to bed at a reasonable time, spending the night with Bucky practically lying on top of Steve in his childhood bed -- it was the only way they'd both fit -- with Babushka doing her best impression of a balaclava and trying to asphyxiate them both. Of course Steve could've slept in Abi's old room, or pulled out the air mattress again, but they made the single bed work, preferring to be together. 

 

The next day, they piled into the car and started the drive to Queens. 

 

Bucky watches the scenery pass by out his window idly, pinky of his left hand brushing against Steve's trouser-clad leg until he feels his boyfriend's hand slide underneath his and squeeze. Bucky looks at him and gives a small smile. 

 

"So," Steve begins after clearing his throat, "is everything squared away with your aunt and uncle?"

 

"Oh! Yeah," Bucky replies. "Dad called Uncle Alan a couple of days ago and talked to him about you. He's famous for being hard to rattle in our family, and completely on board. Aunt Margaret, too." The confirmation seems to ease something in Steve's expression, and he acknowledges with a nod. 

 

"Alan fought in Vietnam, right?" Steve queries. 

 

Bucky nods solemnly, fingers stroking reflexively over Steve's. "He finished college and then enlisted. Became a linguist and spent a lot of time on the radio listening to and translating transmissions."

 

Steve nods, impressed. "He must be a smart guy." 

 

"Alan was always the brains of the family," George pipes in, "Not that he rubbed it into us much. He only ever made sure we knew about it _every chance he got_." The words are a little cutting, but they're said with a fond smile. 

 

Bucky takes up the conversation again. "Anyway, after dad spoke to him, Uncle Alan called me straight up and asked if everything was true. When I said it was, all he had to say was that he looks forward to meeting you." 

 

A small frown creases Steve's brow. "He doesn't take issue that your partner's male?" he asks curiously. 

 

Bucky's not sure whether Steve's asking more in general, or specifically because of Alan's military service. DADT was repealed around the same time Steve was recovered from the ice, but Bucky knows from first-hand experience it's still not something that all queer servicemen and women feel comfortable broadcasting. Either way, the answer's still the same. 

 

"Never. Always been super supportive and approachable. In fact, he takes more issue with the fact that you're a goddamn Captain."

 

Steve's eyebrows make their way towards his hairline. "Yeah?"

 

"I should warn you about his officer's jokes, Steve," George admits, "They're pretty terrible." 

 

"Probably nothing I haven't heard before," Steve responds mildly, "I _did_ start in tights on the USO circuit, if you remember, I think I've heard it all." 

 

The rest of the trip is pleasant, Steve rubbing circles on his knee. They've been travelling in the suburbs for a good ten minutes now, and Bucky's watched the streets and buildings change. Alan and Margaret's street in Queens is in a quiet, middle-class neighbourhood. The houses aren't fancy, but they're generally well-kept. 

 

George has to park nearly a block away due to the amount of cars on the street already. As everyone exits the vehicle and walks towards the house, Bucky slips his hand into Steve's. "Hate to say it, but half of these cars belong to my family," Bucky says, pointing out both Nick and Abigail's cars.

 

Steve seems buoyed by the fact there'll be people inside that he already knows, but there's still a nervous energy surrounding him. Bucky can't blame him; this is more than Thanksgiving, which was a small family occasion. 

 

This is the extended Barnes family as Bucky knows it, in all their glory; big, loud, invasive, wonderful. 

 

He hopes Steve is up for it. 

 

When Bucky's parents get to the door, George steps to the front and knocks robustly. Grace puts a reassuring hand on Steve's back, and Bucky squeezes his fingers. Steve shoots them both a fleeting smile before focusing intently in front of him, exhaling softly. 

 

It takes a few moments, but the door opens and Alan fills the frame, Margaret just behind. Bucky's always amused by the similarities and differences between his father and his uncle. Alan is taller, with squarer shoulders. He doesn't have George's moustache, and his hair is whiter, but the resemblance is definitely there. 

 

Alan's eyes skate over everyone, before resting on Steve. He takes a moment before stepping away from the door. "Come in before you freeze," he says in a good-natured grumble. 

 

The Barnes clan file in, divesting themselves of coats and scarves at the racks by the door. Alan is a few inches off Steve's height, but still manages to be an imposing presence. 

 

He steps directly in front of Steve and looks him up and down before proffering his hand. "Steve Rogers, I presume," he says, holding Steve's eyes piercingly. 

 

"Yes, sir," he says, standing a little more to attention, and taking Alan's hand. Bucky can't blame him. Alan has always had a _presence_ about him that's indefinable. It left Bucky in awe when he was little, only to understand it a little more after he himself had served overseas. 

 

Bucky's uncle cracks a grin. "Don't call me 'sir', son, I _work_ for a living," he admonishes, and just like that, Steve's face breaks out into a grin in response. "Alan will be just fine. This is my wife, Margaret." 

 

Margaret is a small woman with blonde hair lightening intogrey. She's always been Alan's tempering force, and takes Steve's hand delicately. "It's a delight to meet you, Captain. Or would you prefer we call you 'Steve'?" 

 

Steve gives her hand an effusive shake. "Ma'am, 'Steve' would be perfect." Margaret gives him a warm smile before moving to Bucky, pulling him into an embrace. 

 

"How is my favourite nephew?" she asks, small hands rubbing his back. 

 

"Aunt Margaret, you're not supposed to have a favourite, y'know," Bucky chides, even though he knows he _is_. 

 

She lets his back go, only to cup his face. "I don't care," she says resolutely, kissing his cheeks, and Bucky smiles.

 

Alan clears his throat. "So I've already informed the family that Steve is going to be joining us as James' guest. There was a bit of excitement, but I've promised to evict anyone who doesn't demonstrate a little class." 

 

Being that it's Alan's house, and being who he is, Bucky has absolutely no _doubt_ that's going to happen. Bucky's grandparents on the Barnes side have long since passed away, and with Alan the eldest of his generation, he's looked up to as a patriarch of sorts. 

 

Steve nods seriously, taking everything in, and Bucky slides an arm around his waist. His boyfriend leans into his body immediately. Bucky can feel his tension; Steve's excited and nervous in equal parts. Bucky is, too, but much like the evening where Steve met his parents for the first time, he's trying to bury those nerves, so as not to inadvertently pass them onto Steve. 

 

"Well, let's stop blocking the doorway," George says, ushering Grace through the entry with a large hand under her elbow. 

 

Down the hall and around the corner, Bucky stands up a little straighter as they enter Alan and Margaret's large entertaining area. 

 

There is family _everywhere;_ talking, laughing, eating, drinking. So much is going on that the entrance of new family members isn't noticed right away. Bucky scans the room, butterflies in his stomach. His hand finds Steve's and he squeezes. Reflexively, Steve squeezes back. 

 

It takes a few moments before they are spotted. Ahush threatens to fall on the proceedings as the gathered Barnes clan gears up to gawk awkwardly at the new arrivals, but it's all spoilt -- rather perfectly -- by Bobby. 

 

"Steeb!" Bobby's excited voice cuts through the murmur, running full tilt towards Steve's knees. The apprehensive look immediately drops from his boyfriend's face as he bends down to scoop up Bucky's nephew. 

 

"Steeb _trucks_ ," Bobby says assertively, poking a chubby digit into Steve's chest. 

 

"Merry Christmas, Bobby," Steve smiles, bouncing the little boy gently in his arms. 

 

"And what do you say back, Robert?" Rebecca asks pointedly, approaching their little group, a warm expression on her face. 

 

"Murray Kissmas," Bobby says quickly, getting pleasantries out of the way, before tugging on Steve's collar. " _Truuuucks,_ Steeb." 

 

"The kid has a one-track mind," Bucky says, leaning to Bobby a raspberry-kiss on his round cheek. "Merry Christmas, champion." Bobby wipes it away as only a toddler can. 

 

Rebecca kisses Bucky on the cheek and wishes him Merry Christmas, before moving to Steve and giving him the exact same treatment, then her parents and Grace. 

 

Nick and Abigail also respond almost immediately, coming to greet the newly-arrived family with hugs and kisses. 

 

Alan looks out to the family, who still seem to be in a minor state of confusion as to how to act. "Well, come on," he admonishes gruffly, "are you greeting our new arrivals, or standing around like landed fish?" 

 

Bucky looks at Alan askance, whose lips purse as he gives his nephew a quick wink. He thinks he knows what Alan's doing. They've all already been told Steve is coming, but given the very regular greeting he's gotten from the rest of Bucky's immediate family, Alan's almost challenging them to do the same. 

 

Basically, if Bucky's immediate family is all cool and blasé about Steve, nobody _else_ wants to be the uncool one and freak out about it. 

 

There are a lot of little looks exchanged between his relatives, but before anyone else can make a move, two of Bucky's second-cousins run up first to say hello to Bucky and Steve. They're a little excitable, but that's what they're like ordinarily.

 

Steve greets them kindly, wishing them a Merry Christmas. It starts a general movement towards the new arrivals, while George and Winifred glide further into the family room to greet their relatives. 

 

It seems the Barnes' get over their shock reasonably quickly, and begin the process of absorbing Steve into their midst. 

 

For his part, Steve looks mildly overwhelmed, but carries himself well. Bucky is glued to his side as the greetings continue, hugging aunts and uncles and cousins. It's nice but... fuck, it's a _lot._ He looks to Rebecca and exhales deeply. He might need a moment alone. 

 

As though she materialises out of thin air, Margaret appears at Bucky's elbow. She tugs on his sweater until he leans down towards her. 

 

"I forgot to mention, Terry's old room is off-limits to everyone, so if either you or Steve need a quiet space for a little while, no-one will bother you there."

 

Margaret's done this before, at every single family event at their house since Bucky first joined the service, but he appreciates it every time. She's had to deal with Alan's PTSD over the years, and has always been especially sensitive to Bucky's needs. 

 

Bucky's face breaks into a warm smile. "You're like an angel, you know, Aunt Marg?" 

 

"Got to spoil my favourite," she says, giving his cheek a gentle pinch. 

 

"I didn't know you could pinch his cheeks," Steve butts in with mild humour. "Is this something I'm allowed to do?"

 

Before Bucky can answer, Margaret pops in. "Oh my, no. Cheek-pinching is just for Aunts. Feel free to pinch other body parts instead." 

 

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up and Steve lets out a delighted laugh. " _Scandalous_ ," Bucky scolds his Aunt gently. She just squeezes his hand and walks away. 

 

Steve puts his face close to Bucky's, lips briefly brushing over his cheekbone. "That's nice of her," he murmurs directly into Bucky's ear. 

 

"Yeah," Bucky replies, "they're good people." He pulls back a little to look Steve in the eyes. Steve smiles gently at Bucky, sweet and private despite the room full of people, and Bucky is helpless to ignore it. He moves to impulsively press a kiss to Steve's cheek. Bucky feels at least a dozen sets of eyes on him at the action, and that is mildly off-putting, but Steve takes his hand and squeezes his fingers. It's not so bad. 

 

Once most of the family has said 'hello', some of the more curious parties start cycling back. In fact, a small crowd forms around Steve, of Barnes' and in-laws asking him if he's hungry, thirsty, and trying to find roundabout ways to quiz him about his job.

 

Bucky's about to say something when Rebecca steps in, forming a little wedge between Bucky and Steve, and the onslaught of relatives. 

 

"Hey now, come on. Everyone's off the clock on the holidays, even Steve!" She turns to Steve and Bucky. "Aunt Margaret has some big platters in the kitchen to bring out. Little help?" 

 

"Of course," Steve smiles winningly, and they both follow Becca into the kitchen. 

 

Bucky whistles once they're inside. "Nice work, Becs." 

 

"I'm good," she replies smugly. "Also... there really _are_ platters to take out, so get cracking." She brushes her hand over Bucky's shoulders as she walks away. 

 

Bucky grins before looking to Steve. "Hey. You doing okay so far?" 

 

Steve's answering smile is small, but genuine. "So far, so good." He casts a scrutinising eye over Bucky. "What about _you_?" 

 

Bucky takes a moment to think about his answer. It's good, it's weird, it's loud, it's warm, it's... not over yet. "I'm okay," he says, before continuing on honestly, "but I'll probably need a stint in Terry's room before the day's through." 

 

Steve rubs Bucky's back and kisses his temple. "If you want the company, I'll come with you."

 

Taking a moment to absorb comfort from Steve, Bucky nods shallowly. "Sounds good," he murmurs. 

 

Margaret appears out of nowhere, a huge platter of finger food in her hands. "Would you mind, boys?" 

 

"Of course not," Steve answers promptly, earning a warm smile. Bucky passes Steve the platter before taking one himself. Hell, being a busboy will at least keep him occupied for a bit. 

 

Mingling with the platters brings a great equaliser to the room; food. It's seemingly hard to bail up Bucky or Steve too much when you're busy stuffing food into your face.

 

Bucky gets waylaid by some random in-law who wants to discuss his step-kid's therapy. Bucky's told him enough times that the kind of treatment that's being prescribed is well-out of his sphere of knowledge, but that information never seems to stick. As he's explaining this for the fourteenth time, he sees Steve get cornered by his second-cousins again.

 

Kelly and Katie are sweet kids, but they're also teenagers with non-existent boundary issues. They're waving their cell phones in his direction and starting to back him into a corner. Steve's wearing a polite expression, but it's kinda frozen on his face. 

 

All at once, Abigail swoops in and shoos them away, to the relief of both Bucky and Steve. Bucky sighs softly, happy that his sisters are so solicitous, and turns back to explain why he's unqualified to give his opinion in this circumstance for a _fifteenth_ time. 

 

Shortly after this, the call goes out to sit in the dining room for lunch. There's a main table and some collapsible card tables off to the side for anyone under the age of about twenty. 

 

Steve's eyes widen as he sees the food on offer, and Bucky can't help but let out a little laugh; he'd thought _Thanksgiving_ was a big meal. A lot of people want Steve to sit next to them, but in the end, Bucky and Winifred are the ones to flank either side. Bucky's glad for that fact; another time he might not've minded his relatives being so keen on a partner and to have them absorbed into the family crazy, but today, he'd prefer it if Steve were close. 

 

As if he knows, Steve's hand comes to rest under the table, just above Bucky's knee. Bucky leans into him briefly. 

 

Christmas isn't Thanksgiving; there are no speeches or formalities. Alan briefly gets up and thanks the family and guests for coming to his home, and wants everyone to appreciate the wonderful food before them. It's simple and understated, and Bucky kinda loves it. 

 

Discourse is free-flowing and fast during lunch, with many conversations going on simultaneously, but it's only inevitable that someone _has_ to ask a more pointed question about Bucky and Steve. And honestly, everyone's been willing to let the fact that they're sitting down with _Captain America_ for Christmas lunch percolate for a while. 

 

"So, Captain Rogers," Bucky's Aunt Joyce asks partway through the meal, "How did you and James meet?" 

 

This is the moment where many side conversations die down, because _everyone's_ dying to know this. And honestly, it's not a Captain America-specific question. Bucky gives Steve a questioning glance, and Steve puts his fork down, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

 

"Well, actually, we met online--" Steve begins, only to be interrupted by surprise laughter and even more questions. 

 

Bucky shushes them politely and takes turns with Steve to give a simplified version of events. By mutual agreement they'd decided to only mention 'online', with no further details. It seemed to greatly amuse the family that Bucky was blown away when he realised it was Steve. 

 

Then Rebecca takes up the story and has everyone in stitches as she talks about beating up on her brother when he revealed Steve's identity to her. No-one laughs louder than Steve, looking over to Bucky with incredulity. Apparently, Bucky had forgotten some details of _that_ story in his own retelling. 

 

Steve ends up taking the reigns of of the conversation, talking a little about what it's been like to date in the modern era. He dances the line between amiable honesty and subtle discretion, able to charm each and every one of Bucky's relatives with sincerity and humour. 

 

He tells the gathered Barnes' how welcoming and kind Bucky's immediate family has been, and how he has felt like a normal person for the first time in a long time. Winifred looks near-ready to expire from happiness, rubbing Steve's arm fondly.

 

Bucky feels Steve's hand come to rest on his thigh, and he interlaces their fingers. He looks to his boyfriend, who gives him a sweet smile back, and a few of his relatives at the table let out choked off 'awww's. He's totally doing it again; Steve is using sweetness and integrity to foster empathy for their situation with his family. There isn't a Barnes in the room that could listen to Steve talk about how he feels like he's normal for the first time in seventy-odd years and not take it to heart. 

 

Steve leans down to press a kiss to Bucky's cheekbone. Being so close to Steve's ear, Bucky takes the opportunity to whisper into it. "Master tactician," he says, and is rewarded with the sound of a huffed laugh. 

 

"Truth bombs," Steve counters, nuzzling at Bucky's short sideburn briefly. 

 

The seal of not acknowledging the celebrity in their midst broken, a few more people fling questions at Steve. There is a certain loving intensity they're now subject to, and the scrutiny is occasionally a little odd to deal with. Most questions asked are those Steve or Bucky have heard a thousand times before, and the answers are polished. There are a few curly ones that both of them would prefer not to answer, but Steve has either cute no-reply replies, or demurs politely. 

 

They're seemingly acceptable responses to most people at the table, but Joyce definitely seems intent on pressing for more information. She earns a frown or two from both George and Winifred. 

 

There is a break between dinner and dessert, and much of the family get up from around the table to continue mingling. 

 

And the questions keep coming. Aunt Joyce has lost Steve's attention to Aunt Margaret and Grace, so she corners Bucky. 

 

It's not just that the questions are a little personal, they're coming so thick and fast that Bucky can't even consider answering one before she's already interrupting to fire off her next one. It's exhausting.

 

He can take it for a few minutes before it starts to make him feel on edge and cranky. Bucky's eyes flit to the side, looking for an escape route, a lifeline. His sisters are too far away, mom is in the kitchen... even Steve is now on the other side of the room in an in-depth conversation with Alan. 

 

_Fuck it_ , Bucky thinks. He tells his aunt suddenly he needs to go to the bathroom, and walks as quickly as his legs will carry him, straight to Terry's room. 

 

Once the door's shut and the sounds of the family gathering are muted, Bucky can relax. He sits on the edge of the bed, forearms resting on his knees, and breathes deeply for a little. 

 

It does the job, bringing his heart rate down, calming his mind. He reminds himself that he's surrounded by people he cares about, and everything's going well. Bucky closes his eyes and shuffles back on the bed until his back hits the wall. 

 

He's lost track of how long he's been in there -- five minutes? Ten? -- when there is a quiet knock at the door. 

 

"Buck? Can I come in?" Steve's voice is just loud enough to hear through the wood. Bucky's shoulders relax almost involuntarily.

 

"Yeah," Bucky responds, and the door immediately opens. 

 

Steve slips through and shuts it behind him, giving Bucky a fond smile. He exhales gustily. "It's a bit of a madhouse out there." 

 

Bucky inclines his head to the side. "Welcome to Christmas." 

 

Steve approaches slowly, looking for a further invitation. Bucky gives it to him, patting the comforter next to him. The space is filled immediately by two hundred pounds of boyfriend. He lifts one arm and Bucky ducks under it immediately, letting out a deep sigh. 

 

They don't talk straight away; Steve lets Bucky just sit and breathe for a little while.

 

"What were you talking to Alan about?" Bucky asks presently, "it looked intense." 

 

Steve's arm slips away from his shoulders, to settle around his waist, and Bucky sits up a little. "We were discussing his service," Steve replies, his face in a thoughtful frown. "Despite him not being involved for that much time... it still left a mark." 

 

Bucky grunts in agreement. It's something that's true for all of them. 

 

"He also said he goes to a group at the VA...?" 

 

"Yeah, for a few years now." Bucky runs his hand absently over Steve's trouser-clad leg. "It helps, so Marg tells me. He has never really talked to the family about his problems, but at least he can go somewhere and vent." 

 

"Huh," Steve says. Bucky glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he's thinking about going to the VA himself again. 

 

They have another moment of silence, where Bucky's hand makes it's way to Steve's. "You doing okay?"

 

Steve meets Bucky's eyes, but doesn't answer immediately. "I am," he says with a fond smile after a thoughtful pause. "It's different to the Christmases I'm used to, or even the ones with the Wilson's... there's a lot more focus on the two of us, which is understandable."

 

"You can call them nosey if you want," Bucky tells him. "I love them, but they're ever-so-slightly insane." 

 

"Still," Steve continues diplomatically, "I feel like they're partially crazy because they care about you? And each other. And it's natural to be curious about me, I suppose." 

 

The slight resignation in Steve's tone is something Bucky would give anything to disperse.

 

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand. "I speak from experience that while they are hyper-focused and kind of annoying now, that level of investment _does_ dissipate in time." 

 

"Thanks for the pep talk, coach," Steve says as he kisses Bucky's temple, and then changes the subject. "They're apparently about to do dessert, think you'd like some?" 

 

Despite being relatively full from lunch, Bucky's stomach gives a half-hearted gurgle, and Steve laughs softly. Bucky shrugs. "It's the pie. Gets me every time." 

 

Steve stands and holds his hand out to Bucky, who is levered up off the bed. They slip out of Terry's room and back into the family room. 

 

Dessert has been set up on the dining table, and family is making their way there to load plates up high, before mingling in the family room once again. Steve stands close, a warm weight against Bucky's body from shoulder to hip. Steve rests a large hand on the small of his back, taking pastries and bites of pie from the plate in Bucky's hands. Bucky can see Grace and Aunt Margaret running a bit of interference with Aunt Joyce in the background, giving them a minute or two in peace. Katie and Kelly both come up, but they're largely adapting to the idea of Steve, and their chatter becomes a lot more normal.

 

Becca glides by as they make their way to the main gathering to sit, stopping briefly to put a hand on Bucky's forearm, a questioning glance. He nods and gives her a smile. 

 

Some relatives -- Joyce, mainly -- make a few last half-hearted attempts to separate Steve from Bucky, and Bucky tenses. Presumably they wish to continue the grilling started at lunch -- but Steve is absolutely adamant that he's not leaving Bucky's side. It's sort of cute to watch his Aunt get frustrated at Steve's smiling face, and his "gosh, ma'am, that sounds great, but maybe later?" attitude. 

 

The festivities continue into the afternoon. There are carols and funny stories and more food and eggnog. Keith, George and Alan's youngest brother (married to Joyce) finally gets around to having a chat, which is quite pleasant. There's time spent with Terry and his wife, too. Bucky always liked spending time with Terry when they were growing up, despite the near ten-year age gap between himself and Alan's oldest son. 

 

But it's becoming exhausting, and Bucky's feet are starting to get itchy. It's been a wonderful day, there's no doubt about it, but he's ready for peace and quiet and maybe just some quiet time with Steve. Terry's room as sanctuary can only work for so long; he's more than aware of the volume of family on the other side, and it's hard to relax _completely_. 

 

He's in the kitchen, filling a glass with water when Abi comes out of nowhere and pulls Bucky into a hug. The action is surprising, but welcome. "Abigail Barnes, as I live and breathe," he greets warmly, "feels like I haven't spoken to you all day." 

 

"I know, s'why I came over," she responds cheerfully. She chucks her thumb towards the rest of the gathered family in the other room. "Some crowd, huh?"

 

"They're okay," Bucky says. "It's... better and worse than what I thought it was going to be like?" 

 

"I hear that. Aunt Joyce is like a bulldog."

 

"But we all figured that would be the case," he replies. "Still..." Bucky shrugs helplessly. "Better and worse, like I said." 

 

Steve chooses this moment to pop into the kitchen. His face lights up when he sees Abi. "Is this a group hug situation? I need to be informed of these at all times." 

 

Abi laughs lightly and Bucky rolls his eyes, though they both open one arm each to draw Steve into their embrace. It's like adding a bald, two hundred pound golden retriever into the mix. He shifts and wriggles to get comfortable and then makes a noise that sounds like a happy snuffle. Bucky's so in love with this idiot, it's not even funny. 

 

"Oh!" Abi cries in the middle of the hug, and Bucky and Steve startle. "I can give you your present now!" And if Bucky's not mistaken, she is speaking to the both of them. Ostensibly, he would never expect his family to feel obliged to get a partner he's been dating for a reasonably short time a gift for Christmas, but the fact they have avidly thought of him, and thought of them _together..._ it feels wonderful. 

 

Abigail reaches into the pocket of her cute sweater and pulls out an envelope, slightly mashed. "Sorry," she apologises, "I've been carrying it in there for most of the day. 

 

She holds it out to the both of them. Steve's the one to take it from her grip. He shoots Bucky a curious glance, before running his finger along the top to slit the envelope, opening it between them so Bucky can see. 

 

Depicting Abi's sharp flair for design, it is a voucher for a couples photo shoot at the time and date to suit. Steve's eyes go bright as he reads the details. 

 

"I know it probably sounds a bit stupid, but I kept thinking about what we talked about at our family dinner and... I'd really like to help you guys make memories." 

 

Bucky looks at his sister, uncharacteristically heartfelt. "That's really thoughtful, Abi," he supplies, his throat suddenly dry. 

 

It's Steve who makes the first move and pulls her back into the hug. Bucky shrugs and joins in; it's a good course of action."Thank you, Abigail," Steve enthuses fervently. "It's-- I would like that so much." He looks to Bucky for a moment, who confirms.

 

"Yes, we would _both_ like that."

 

Bucky has to take a moment and really consider how lucky he is to have a supportive family and wonderful siblings and-- it makes something tighten in his chest inexplicably. 

 

"Well, don't get all weepy about it," Abi says with forced cheerfulness, though her eyes are a little moist, "there's an iTunes gift card in there, too." 

 

Steve looks back into the envelope. " _Yoink_!" he says, and both Bucky and Abigail fucking _lose_ it. They can't stop laughing, and Bucky's having trouble catching his breath. Steve just smiles beatifically. 

 

Abi wipes a tear away from her eye. "What a great way to finish up. I made sure to come to find you, because I'm heading off to see Sasha now, and spend the rest of the night at her parents'."

 

Sasha is Abigail's best friend from high school, and Abi's like another daughter to the family. They still live in the old neighbourhood...

 

...close to George and Winifred. 

 

Bucky glances quickly at Steve, before coming to a prompt decision. "Hey, Abi, could we maybe hitch a ride to mom and dad's with you?" Bucky asks suddenly. Both Steve and Abigail look at him curiously, but Abi answers anyway.

 

"Of course. When do you want to go?"

 

"Whenever you do." Bucky turns back to Steve, placing a hand on his forearm. "I'm ready to spend some time in the quiet with you." 

 

Bucky hates the idea a little of tearing Steve away from a family Christmas, but he hopes his boyfriend won't mind too much.

 

However, apparently any admission that Bucky wants to spend time with him is the only thing Steve needs to move like an action hero. "If you're sure, absolutely. You grab your things and I'll find your p--"

 

"Slow down, Steve," Bucky gives a soft laugh. "We still have to make a round of goodbyes before that happens." He places a soft kiss on Steve's cheek. "But thank you."

 

The three of them exit the kitchen and make their way back to the family room. As soon as they're there, Steve scans the room. 

 

"Mr Barnes--" he starts, meaning Bucky's dad, but Bucky and Abi can't stop laughing at the expression on Steve's face when no fewer than five men in the room answer 'yes'. It's a source of quite a bit of amusement, but Alan hushes them before the family gets too boisterous, and compounds Steve's obvious embarrassment. 

 

George grins and approaches, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "You should probably just call me 'George', Steve," he says cheerfully. 

 

Steve acknowledges with a nod, cheeks mildly pink. "George, Bucky and I want to let you know we're going to head back, and that Abigail has agreed to give us a ride back to Brooklyn."

 

There is a sad exclamation from those who've heard Steve. George's smile dims, but not in a way that makes Bucky feel bad about leaving. "Of course. Are you going to be at the house when we get back?"

 

Steve looks to Bucky, who shakes his head self-deprecatingly. "Probably not, I think we'll both be more comfortable in a bigger bed tonight." 

 

Alan comes over to join them. "Heading off, then?" 

 

Before Bucky can answer, Kelly runs over. "You can't go, yet, we haven't taken the family photo! It's _tradition_." 

 

Alan gives Kelly a stern look, but she's unperturbed. Bucky looks to Abi, who shrugs. "Is everyone else here? Can we do it now?" he asks. 

 

"Yes!" Kelly replies cheerfully, before leaving to corral the family. Bucky side-eyes Abigail, who rolls her eyes good-naturedly. 

 

Under Kelly's teenage nagging, the family comes together reasonably quickly, with decidedly little complaining. Bucky's niece sets up a little gorillapod on one of the tables with her phone in the cradle. 

 

"I can take it for you, if you like?" Steve offers. 

 

There are a few protests and calls for Steve to join them, but he gives a polite smile and stands firm. Bucky squeezes Steve's hand and goes to join his family, somehow getting squished between Aunt Margaret and Terry's wife, Nanette. 

 

Something about having almost every member of his extended family on one side of the room, and Steve on the other, seems wrong to Bucky, but he musters up a smile as Steve counts them in, gently pressing the shutter a few times. 

 

"Now Steve!" Winifred says, to a resounding cheer. Steve looks taken aback for a second but Bucky takes his hand from Marg's shoulder and beckons him. 

 

Steve deliberates for a second, before he decides to join them. "I'm not sure where I'm going to fit in," he says, scanning the group. Hasty mutterings go up to give Steve some room, but his decision is made when Bobby hollers 'Steeb' and starts wriggling in George's grip. 

 

George grins wryly, holding the toddler towards Steve, who shrugs, and takes Bobby onto his shoulder. 

 

There's a collective sigh from some of the gathered women that Bucky most certainly did _not_ join in on. 

 

Much.

 

Steve shoots him a silly smile and ends up crouching with Bobby on is knee, right in front of Bucky, close enough that his curved back rests firmly against' Bucky's shins. Bucky hunkers down within the arms thrown around his shoulders, putting one hand on Steve's back, between his shoulder blades. Kelly jumps up and sets the self-timer counting them in for a burst of three photos. 

 

A cheer goes up as they're done, and Alan urges swift goodbyes so they can get on the road, which Bucky appreciates.

 

As Steve's being beset by relatives who all want to shake his hand and kiss his cheek, Bucky sidles up to Kelly. "Hey... about that last photo... would you mind not putting that one up on Facebook?" Kelly opens her mouth to say something, but Bucky pushes on. "It's just that only you guys really know he was here today, and we're not big on the press getting too intrusive if we can help it." 

 

"You seen any paps?" Kelly asks seriously. "I've heard they can be pretty crazy." 

 

"Not yet," Bucky admits, "but they're around, usually at the Tower." He gives a little sigh. "It's only a matter of time before someone photographs us, because I don't intend to live like a hermit. But it'd be nice if we could keep the privacy for as long as possible before that happens." 

 

Kelly ponders this briefly. "Okay. But could I get a selfie with him to show my friends? I won't put it up and I won't tell anyone why I saw him; I promise." 

 

Bucky cocks his head to the side. "It sounds okay with me, but you've got to ask him yourself. And if he says no, deal with it." 

 

"Okay!" Kelly says brightly, not able to comprehend a world in which anyone can say 'no' to her. 

 

Sure enough, Steve agrees, but they do decide to do it outside, away from the recognisable decor of the house or any relatives who might cry foul about it. 

 

George, Winifred, Alan, Margaret and Grace all come outside to bid them farewell -- Rebecca and Nick currently have their hands full with dirty diapers. Abi ends up taking Kelly's phone and snapping some really cute photos of her and Steve in front of Alan's side-hedge. 

 

Bucky gets big hugs from his parents and his aunt and uncle. Margaret holds him so tight he can imagine his ribs creaking. "You come and visit us again in the new year. Bring Steve with you." 

 

"Getting all these invites now that Steve's with me," Bucky grumbles good-naturedly. 

 

"You're clearly not up on the plan," Margaret shakes her head. "You both come over, and Steve distracts Alan so I can spend time with my favourite." 

 

Bucky kisses the top of her head. "Gotta admit; I _do_ like it when you play favourites, Aunt Marg." 

 

He looks over to Steve, who is talking quietly with Alan. They seem to have gelled very well, very quickly. Steve glances up and sees Bucky, flashing him a quick smile. He then shakes Alan's hand. 

 

Alan is one of the people he respects most in the world. To see Steve and him hitting it off so quickly is gratifying. Logically, he never doubted they'd get along, but the visual confirmation is extra special. 

 

They smile and wave to the assembled Barnes clan as Abigail does a slow drive-by on their departure. Steve sits in the front with Abi, and they discuss potential ideas for where her gift photoshoot could take place, and what kinds of things they could do. 

 

Bucky's suggestion of recreating classic awkward family photos or prom photos is shot down pretty quickly, but it doesn't bother him. Whenever he feels like joining in on the conversation, he sits forward and leans between the seats, otherwise he sits back and listens to music on the radio and looks out the window. 

 

It's a really pleasant drive back to Brooklyn. There's less traffic than normal, and a warm, light-hearted vibe in the car. 

 

Bucky feels _happy_. 

 

Abigail only drops them off at mom and dad's so she can continue on to Sasha's. It's strange to unlock the door and walk into the house with its festive decorations and _nobody else inside_ , but the quiet is sort of nice, too. Steve gets to work packing up their overnight things and gifts into the car, while Bucky spends the time stalking Babushka and getting her into her pet pack. 

 

It takes roughly the same amount of time. 

 

They're piled into Steve's SUV -- bags and presents in the trunk, Babushka in the back seat watching with big eyes -- when Steve turns to Bucky, wrists resting on the top of the steering wheel.

 

"I don't mind where we go, but I had a few things at my place I wanted to deal with tonight, if possible."

 

Truth is, even after spending a night at his folks' place, he's got a small cache of clothes at Steve's that he can use. In the event he doesn't, he can borrow something from his boyfriend to wear. That and Steve now has everything set up for Babuskha visits, so it doesn't necessitate a stop at his apartment first.

 

Bucky nods and settles himself in the passenger's seat comfortably. "That's fine, I don't mind going to yours."

 

Steve kisses his temple and starts the engine. 

 

The way to Steve's is thankfully a much shorter drive. Soft winter light is darkening into twilight, and Bucky notices when the street lamps blaze to life on the way. 

 

They talk about lunch on the trip; it was ultimately a successful visit. Had Bucky not still been working through some long-ass recovery time, he might've lasted longer, or dealt with Joyce better. 

 

But Steve was okay. He was unperturbed about being the centre of attention, such as he was, as it's something that he's quite familiar with in life. The effect was lessened considerably with people like Alan, George, Rebecca, and other members of Bucky's immediate family making it their mission to assist Bucky and Steve with distractions and diversions. 

 

Anything other than regular Barnes family quirks comes from the fact that it's a little shock for Bucky's family to meet Steve so unexpectedly.Bucky hopes that when Steve comes to another family function, they might've settled down a little bit. 

 

Joyce is Joyce, however. Some things don't _ever_ change. 

 

Steve enjoyed a family Christmas, and they spent it together. They're the most important take-aways from today. 

 

Bucky fucking _loves_ Steve's space in the underground parking of his building, negating the need to circle the block looking for somewhere to pull over. They gather the few bags and Bushka's pet pack, and head upstairs. 

 

Steve makes Bucky wait outside for a second before he goes in. When Bucky finally does enter, he sees it's because Steve felt it necessary to get in and flick on the lights of his impressive tree in the corner, and a lamp over the far side. The curtains are open, but twilight has nearly dipped completely into darkness. 

 

The soft ambience of the apartment makes Bucky feel instantly calm. Babushka is allowed to run free as Steve turns on the coffee maker and Bucky puts some of his bags down on the bed in the spare room. 

 

When he exits, Steve flashes him an unreadable look, that smooths away quickly. Bucky finishes the coffee off to see Steve take two small gifts from the few brightly-coloured parcels left under the tree. He places them on the coffee table before sitting on the sofa. 

 

Bucky sets one coffee mug on the coaster next to the presents, an eyebrow arched suspiciously as he sits.

 

"What's this about?" he nods towards the table, sipping his hot drink. 

 

"So I may have forgotten to take some presents to your mom and dad's--"

 

"Steve--" Bucky starts, but his boyfriend disregards his interruption.

 

"--for Babushka," Steve finishes sheepishly.

 

Bucky freezes for a moment, before he starts to laugh. As he does so, Steve loses his bashfulness and smiles broadly. It's amazing that his own happiness can have such a profound effect on someone else. 

 

"So this is what you 'needed to deal with' tonight?" Bucky asks wryly. 

 

"Well, I can't have her think I don't _care_ ," Steve tells him fervently. He picks up one of the parcels and shakes it. A tiny bell tinkles inside and from out of nowhere, Babushka appears on the other side of the coffee table. 

 

Steve sets the present down and Bushka plays with the wrapping until she makes a hole in it. Bucky picks up the present to finish unwrapping a new collar with a bell. It's a lovely gift, but what makes it more from Steve in his own tongue-in-cheek way is that the collar has a very patriotic pattern on it. 

 

"Nice," Bucky chuckles. "Marking my cat, huh?"

 

"Could be a nice update. I saw a red and gold one, but that colour scheme seemed a bit gauche," Steve muses. 

 

Bucky points to the other package on the table and opens it to find another collar; same red, white and blue colours, but this time in diamantes, with a sparkling heart in the middle. He holds them both up to Steve with a querying look. 

 

"Clearly, one is for day wear, the other is for evening." 

 

Bucky is glad his coffee is on the table so he doesn't spill it while laughing. "You're slightly crazy, but I like you anyway," he tells Steve, leaning in to give him a kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

 

"I have it on good authority you do more than 'like' me," he says. 

 

" _Eh_ ," Bucky says with a shrug, playing up his ambivalence. 

 

The unreadable look comes back onto Steve's face. Before Bucky can ask about it, Steve takes his hand. "Hey, you know how you use the spare room for all your stuff when you come over?"

 

"Yes..?" 

 

Steve chews on his bottom lip. "Well, if you want to keep using the spare, I don't mind at all. But... but I wanted to let you know that I wouldn't mind if you put it in my bedroom." Steve squeezes the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand. "I mean, it's where you sleep, right? S'gotta be inconvenient to leave the room to get clothes, or anything." 

 

Bucky gives Steve a soft smile. He admits he'd been keeping that last little bit of separation, because it felt too presumptuous to just assume. Even though in the reverse he'd allowed Steve to have a tiny corner of his bedroom and his bathroom back at his place. 

 

Trust Steve to make it a sweet invitation, taking the awkwardness right out of the situation. 

 

Bucky shuffles forward, practically climbing into Steve's lap, and takes the blond's face in his hands. He flicks a deliberate glance to the light fixture directly above the couch, where a sprig of mistletoe hangs, before kissing him sweetly. "You say it like you _want_ me to wear clothes in your room," Bucky murmurs against his lips after a moment. 

 

Steve's hands rest mildly on his waist, though he's no slouch in the kissing department. Bucky's all-too-aware they haven't quite gotten back to their level of intimacy since before Veterans Day... but it's approaching. He can feel it. 

 

"Well," Steve mumbles, voice a little hoarse, "it gets cold sometimes, you know." 

 

He kisses Steve again, and again, gently pushing until Steve's on his back, with Bucky on top of him. Their bodies are pressed together, and Bucky can feel the heat radiating from beneath Steve's adorably conservative-yet-hot cardigan. 

 

And while they are certainly passionate, Bucky doesn't feel as though Steve exerts any pressure or expectation for anything else on him. It makes setting the pace easy. It makes him want to get to that comfortable, physical place all that much sooner. 

 

And Steve is one _hell_ of a kisser; varying between sweet pecks and deep, searing kisses as the situation warrants. Right now, they're somewhere between sweet, public pecks and naked fun-time kisses, the scale dipping closer and closer to the latter with each passing second. 

 

Bucky pulls back from his position lying atop Steve, hands buried in his hair, one knee slipped between his thighs, panting softly. Steve's hair is mussed from Bucky's fingers, his lips slick and eyes delightfully dreamy. 

 

"Hey, so," Bucky clears his throat and sits up and slightly away from his boyfriend. Steve struggles to push himself into a sitting position smoothly. It's delightfully and adorably hard for him. "Was thinking maybe I could take a hot bath, if that's okay with you?"

 

Steve runs his hand through his hair multiple times to try and comb it out. "Yeah, yeah of course." If he's disappointed the make out session on Christmas day in front of the lit tree and under the mistletoe has come to an end, there's no outward sign. 

 

Bucky pushes himself to his feet, shaking the feeling back into his legs. He looks down at Steve and feels a surge of warmth in his chest. Holding his hand out, palm down, Bucky cocks his head to the side. 

 

"You coming?" 

 

Steve's eyes widen for a millisecond before his hand reaches out to take Bucky's. He lets Bucky pull him to his feet. Once stood, Bucky starts walking him backwards down the short hall and towards the main bathroom, his eyes not able to leave Steve's face. The blond's expression is soft and full of love, and Bucky can't think of a time when he's ever felt quite so important to anyone in his life that didn't share his surname. 

 

Just before Bucky has Steve into the tiled room, there's the telltale sound of Babushka ripping more paper. Bucky dimly remembers there was at least one other present beneath Steve's tree. 

 

"Hey," Bucky says huskily around one of Steve's kisses, "she's not ruining anyone else's presents, is she?"

 

Steve shakes his head gently, nuzzling at the soft skin in front of Bucky's right ear. "Nope. They were all for her, anyway." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Steve complaining about not having legroom gives me life.
> 
> *When I was little on car trips with my brother, we used to fight epically in the back seat. Apparently, I used to get upset when he looked out my window. It's a real thing, people. 
> 
> * So Steve likes thoughtful gifts. He has a lot more money now, and can certainly use it, but he's not Tony. He doesn't just drop money because. If he's getting gifts, he's thinking about why he's getting them. It's what he does, but also I think a throwback to his upbringing, where thoughtful and inexpensive gifts were just about the only ones that could be afforded. He's not cheap, just careful.
> 
> * Bucky bought Steve Beatles albums. Specifically, the White Album and Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Is there a Sergeant joke in there somewhere? Maybe. I certainly didn't think of it when I chose the album, but now writing this note... well. There ya go. 
> 
> * Alan Barnes carries the name of my grandfather, but his particular skillset/vocation in the armed services is actually lifted from my star beta Sarah's father. Thank you for allowing me to pick your brain a bit and borrow your awesome dad's service record <3 
> 
> * DADT was in effect when Bucky joined the Army, and repealed while he was still a member. Still... Bucky never felt wholly comfortable going full disclosure even then. He generally kept his romantic personal stuff pretty close to the chest, no matter what. 
> 
>  
> 
> * Like many an NCO, Alan doesn't think much of the experience of officers when compared to NCOs, who get there title by time spent and experience learnt, rather than exams. But if anyone's going to be the exception, it'll be Steve. He didn't exactly come by his rank in the usual way...
> 
> * Bucky's immediate family have really taken Steve's wellbeing to heart, and are avidly doing everything they can to smooth out situations in which Steve's identity might make people act dumb.
> 
> * Bobby is obsessed with Steeb, but not because he's famous. It's because he plays trucks with soundeffects. and lets Bobby crash them into his legs. ouch. 
> 
> * Alan suffers from PTSD, and so when Bucky visited when on furlough or after he left the Army, Margaret was prepared to help him out in any way possible. This was not limited to but definitely included some kind of safe, quiet space that he could retreat to whenever he felt the need, with no fear that someone was going to come in and disturb him. 
> 
> * kelly and katie are named for my good friends. ilu guys, sorry I made you bucky's teenage second cousins <3 
> 
> * 'truth bomb' is totally something Steve has picked up from Bucky. 
> 
> * I'm gonna direct-quote the Sarah on this one: "Sam's family seems loud and loving and to the point. They've also got an Avenger of their own, so it's different. Bucky's family is meeting a celebrity. A celebrity Bucky is dating, so you've got a balance of "let's meet the boyfriend" and "omg the boyfriend is famous.""  
> I think every family has a bit of a busy-body like Joyce. She's not trying to be mean, she's just... Joyce. 
> 
> * So. Steve and these damned collars. XD Daywear collar:  
> Nightwear collar:BECAUSE STEVE IS A TROLL. 
> 
> * So... yes they have a bath together, but there's no complete sexytimes. It's sweet and intimate togetherness, and then they dress in comfy stuff, Steve makes them supper, they probably make out in front of the tree some more, and then go to bed and have Bushka try and suffocate them both. 
> 
> * Bucky's a lot better, he's getting there. 
> 
> * I had bucky and steve outfits picked but the images have DISAPPEARED. I'd rather post this than spend ages trying to find them on google again, so when I do, i shall edit this with a link. 
> 
> That's it, everybody. I'm so sorry you had to wait. Rest assured, i'm working on the next part now, and it should definitely not take 3 mths to get to you <3 Love ya, Stucky fandom!


	23. Dating: (week 22)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * The One With The Surprise Discovery  
> * The One With The Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo wanted this out before the end of Jan... thank you heaps Sarah for making this a possibility. Now they're only... one year and one mth behind in the timeline ;)
> 
> This isn't possible without Sarah. You guys need to know this. Thank you to my friends who offered advice on things when I was getting stuck in certain places. For you are amazing, and I wish thousands of blessings upon you. 
> 
> So I've started writing a not-long oneshot that I'm going to likely publish before the next chapter of this (which hasn't been started, tbh), so if you want to know when that comes out, you can subscribe to author alerts if you like. 
> 
> Other helpful links: [Steve's insta](http://www.instagram.com/stevefrombrooklyn)  
> [My tumblr](http://www.tumblr.com/users/fannishflightsoffancy)
> 
> Your support and comments are always so lovely and appreciated. Thanks for being amazeballs, stucky fandom!

 

  * **The One With The Surprise Discovery**



 

_(Location: Bucky's Apartment)_

 

Bucky hums as he checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He's just finished getting dressed for New Year's Eve, but it's that stupid between-time after he's gotten ready to go out, but before he actually has to _leave_. 

 

It feels good to _feel_ like going out at all. Granted, he's not doing anything especially fancy... he hasn't done anything complicated since his Army days, in point of fact. 

 

But this year, he's compelled to try. 

 

Bucky and Steve have been invited over to Denise's apartment. She lives in Park Slope in a restored walk-up on the third floor. It's not especially high, but on nights such as this, she has a not-terrible view of the Prospect Park New Year's fireworks. The evening will be spent having a casual chat, maybe a drink or two, and watching the festivities. 

 

And while Steve has some prior charity commitments in Manhattan at Avengers Tower, he's promised to leave well before the ball drop to make it back into Brooklyn. 

 

Bucky walks back into the living room, looking for something to occupy his time, and sees one of Steve's gifts to Babushka sitting on the counter. The diamante collar twinkles back at him. The stupid thought occurs to Bucky that it might be nice to put her in the fancy new collar for the new year. 

 

He sits on the couch and tempts Bushka over with a treat. The cat leaps up gracefully and purrs up a storm as Bucky strokes her ears and scratches in between her eyes. With careful hands as she chews on her treat, Bucky unclips Steve's 'day' collar, and is about to secure the fancy one, when something catches his eye.

 

Bucky turns the collar over carefully to see a few letters engraved on the back of the heart. 

 

_With Love, SGR._

 

Bucky smiles helplessly, running his thumb over the engraved words. He gets back to his task, securing the sparkling collar gently around Bushka's neck. 

 

While Babushka's still next to him and relatively happy, Bucky grabs his phone from the coffee table and snaps a picture of her. He's about to send it to Steve, before changing his mind and calls instead.

 

Steve doesn't take long to answer. "Hey," he says warmly, the low ambient buzz of a party in the background. 

 

"So for the first time in my life I have a gift that's engraved with a sweet message... and it's for my cat."

 

Steve pauses for a moment, before laughing warmly down the phone. The sound is intimate and sweet. "She is a _queen_ , Buck." 

 

"Yeah, yeah... When was I even meant to see it?" 

 

"I was hoping you wouldn't, and that our love would remain hidden, and in that way; timeless." 

 

Bucky scoffs. "Your love for Babushka is the worst-kept secret _ever_. You've got no game, Rogers." 

 

"I've got enough game for you," Steve replies simply and yeah, he's got Bucky there. 

 

"The worst-kept secret _there_ is that I love you despite the obvious character flaws." 

 

Rather than be in any way offended, Steve just laughs again. "That's very reassuring." 

 

Bucky has to grin at Steve's amicable acceptance. "Still on track for later?" 

 

"Mhm. I've already told Pepper I have to head out around 2230, she's going to cover for me."

 

Bucky strokes his hand rhythmically over Babushka's head, feeling the little vibrations through her body. "Excellent. If something changes, just let me know. Traffic's gonna be a nightmare, or if you get called awa--"

 

" _Buck_ ," Steve interrupts adamantly, "I'll be there." 

 

Bucky lets out a soft exhale. "Okay. I look forward to it." 

 

"See you next year," Steve replies cheerfully, to Bucky's groan. 

 

"That's _terrible_ ," he complains.

 

"I know," Steve replies smugly. There's a pause, and Bucky hears Steve talk to someone he's with, only muffled. "I have to go. Tell Denise and Doug I'll be there as soon as I can." 

 

"Will do," Bucky promises. "See you next year." 

 

 

  * _The One With The Fireworks  
  
(Location: Park Slope) _



 

Bucky knocks on Dee's apartment door with one hand, his other arm occupied with holding a six-pack of beer. His gloves mute the knock a little, so he pulls the glove off with his teeth and tries again. 

 

Presently Denise opens the door. She looks over him in two seconds and takes the beer out of his hands. "Bucky, come in!" She sounds pleased, and backs away from the door, gesturing inside.

 

He passes through the threshold and immediately removes the other glove, coat and scarf. It's a pleasant temperature in the apartment, but it's going to take a few minutes for him to get warm again. "Just ducking into the kitchen, make yourself at home," she tells him. 

 

Bucky cranes his neck and looks around a little, while he rubs feeling back into his fingers. He's been here to pick Dee up before, but never really been _inside_ her apartment. It's nice. Exposed brickwork with a lot of homey touches; artwork and photographs and souvenirs. The Christmas tree is still in the corner, lights on and twinkling merrily.

 

"You brought Doug's favourite beer," Dee announces from the kitchen, "he'll love it." 

 

"I aim to be a non-shitty guest when I turn up to places most times," Bucky deadpans, to his co-worker's tinkling laughter. 

 

It's the absence of certain emotions that Bucky really notices; anxiety, nerves, apprehension. He's here with a friend for a nice night, and his boyfriend will join them later. He smiles to himself as he hangs his outerwear on the coatrack. 

 

Dee exits the kitchen with two steaming mugs, handing one to Bucky. He wraps his hands around it, grateful for the warmth. 

 

"Where's Doug?" Bucky asks, sipping his coffee slowly. 

 

"Ducked out to get us dinner. He's picking up Italian from Gino's." Bucky nods in approval, Gino's is excellent. 

 

Dee gestures to the sofa and they sit down together. It's really nice to spend casual time with Denise and be social. They do chat about work a little, which is interesting. Denise tells Bucky she's been looking at how to best utilise their grant money -- apart from salaries for new staff -- and has come up with an idea. 

 

"I think we should look at a new office," she tells him matter-of-factly.

 

"Oh?" Bucky asks, interest piqued, shifting forward on his seat.  


"Mhm. The bullpen is already pretty cramped. Vanessa doesn't have a workspace, and we need room for our new hire -- whoever that may be. We can't exactly afford to turn our consult rooms into offices, as we _all_ utilise them." 

 

"It's true," Bucky hums. They discuss the kinds of requirements they might have for a new space. Bucky has a few ideas as to what a new space should look like, and it's nice that Denise is so receptive to his opinions on the topic. 

 

Doug arrives in the middle of the discussion, so there's a pause while the food is arranged on the table. Denise wants to make dinner an informal affair, so they serve themselves and return to the sofa to sit and eat comfortably.

 

Conversation continues, but now it's less about work and more about pressing life concerns: Doug enjoys discussing the intricacies of _American Ninja Warrior,_ Dee tells Bucky about her sister's new forays into Etsy selling, and Bucky bemoans the fact that Steve bought more Christmas presents for his cat than _he_ did (complete with pictures). 

 

Denise finds this story excessively amusing. 

 

Bucky's phone chimes occasionally. He was a little hesitant to look at his messages to start with, not wishing to appear rude, but Denise assures him that neither she nor Doug will be offended. 

 

With Dee's blessing, Bucky does check his phone when it goes off, smiling goofily at each chime. He receives a few messages from Steve, and a picture or two from Sam of Steve schmoozing with guests at Avengers Tower. It's another big charity gala, otherwise Steve wouldn't have agreed. 

 

Steve looks _very_ dashing in a tux. 

 

_Steve: So apparently ordering appletinis at the bar isn't cool? Sam is making fun of me._

 

_Bucky: Could be worse. You could've ordered a cocksucking cowboy or a leg spreader._

 

_Steve: ..._

 

_Bucky: You wouldn't._

 

_Steve: Hold my appletini._

 

Bucky's only half-way through explaining his text conversation to Dee when he gets a short video from Sam of Steve, completely straight-faced, ordering a Cocksucking Cowboy from a near-hysterical bartender. 

 

They all have a good laugh at that. Bucky sinks into the cushions of the sofa, still chuckling. He doesn't feel bereft of Steve with quality content such as that. 

 

Bucky's evening with Denise and Doug passes pleasantly. Occasionally there's a far-off pop-boom of people letting off illegal fireworks in the street, but with the windows currently shut tight to keep out the cold, it's nothing more than faint background noise. 

 

The debate between watching Netflix or another movie gives way to the general news coverage of countries that have already celebrated New Years, and the cheesy recaps of 'the year that was' with their own added commentary. 

 

He's enjoying it so much that he initially misses a message from Steve. When Bucky finally sees it, his lips curve in a smile. 

 

_Steve: Snuck out the back door, heading to my bike. I'm on my way xo_

 

It's timestamped at just after ten-thirty; depending on traffic, closed roads and how fast Steve rides, he could be anywhere in between another fifteen to thirty minutes. Not long at all.

 

Bucky tells Dee that Steve is on his way. He tries for a casual, flippant remark, but Denise is just too good at reading him. She gives him an indulgent smile and puts another pot of coffee on. 

 

Soon enough, Bucky's phone chimes. He reads the message and his anticipation kicks up a notch. "He's at the building," Bucky announces, putting on a great show of keeping the nervous energy out of his voice. He works hard to fight the urge to jog down the three flights of stairs, or to pace or neurotically fix his hair. 

 

There's a brisk knock at the door, and Denise moves to answer it. The door swings open and Steve fills the frame, helmet dangling from one hand, a bottle of champagne from the other. 

 

"Steve!" Dee welcomes warmly, and Steve inclines his head down to kiss her on the cheek in greeting. 

 

"Happy New Year, Denise," Steve replies cordially. "Pepper insisted I bring this, hope it's okay." He passes the bottle to her. Denise's eyebrows rise to her hairline, and she passes the bottle to her husband, who whistles in appreciation. He smiles with his lips slightly parted showing teeth, and for Doug, that's rampant enthusiasm. 

 

"Anyone who brings a bottle of _Dom_ to New Years' has a standing invite. Doug Isles," Doug says, sticking out his hand, which Steve takes and shakes eagerly. 

 

"Steve," he returns. Steve finally looks past their hosts to see Bucky standing there expectantly. The smile on his face turns warm, sweet and private. 

 

Bucky breaks eye contact with Steve to give him the once-over. He's come straight from the party without changing, merely throwing his leather jacket over his tuxedo coat. 

 

"Steve, can I take your jacket?" Doug asks, and Steve smiles, allowing Doug to help him remove the leather. His tuxedo coat is a little crushed, and he tries to smooth down the arms. 

 

"I guess I'm a little over-dressed," he says as Bucky steps into his personal space. 

 

"You look _great_ ," Bucky says, drinking in the sight of Steve in formalwear in person. He tugs on Steve's bow tie. "But if you want to get a little more casual, we'll allow you to slum it with us." 

 

"I'm so grateful," Steve murmurs, placing his hands on Bucky's waist and leaning in for a chaste kiss. The fact that it's happening in front of Dee and Doug makes Bucky feel like his face is heating up to about a thousand degrees. And yet, it makes him happy to be able to be demonstrative in front of his friends.

 

Doug clears his throat -- accidentally, if his expression is anything to go by -- and breaks the moment. But that's okay. Bucky pulls away from Steve, pressing his lips together in the memory of the kiss. Steve takes off his bow tie and tuxedo coat, and rolls his sleeves up his forearms with economical movements, suddenly looking a lot more casual. 

 

Denise gestures for them to enter into the living area of the apartment, but Steve doesn't move until he's slipped his large, slightly-calloused hand into Bucky's. 

 

"Thank you for inviting us," Steve begins, sitting on the sofa, close enough so that his thigh is pressed against Bucky's. "Sorry I'm late. I agreed to Tony's party before you issued the invitation, and Bucky didn't want to come with me." 

 

Bucky shakes his head unrepentantly. "Monkey suits and Stark? Hard pass."

 

"You like _this_ monkey suit, though, right?" Steve asks playfully.

 

"I think everybody with working _eyes_ likes that monkey suit, Steve," Bucky answers. 

 

"Speaking of the function, Steve, did you get enough to eat?" 

 

Steve looks to Dee, slightly bashfully. "There were canapes there, but... they're only canapes." 

 

Denise smiles kindly. "Never fear, we have Italian food left over. I think you'll have enough time to eat before the fireworks." 

 

Piling a plate high with leftovers, Denise hands it to Steve and they all continue chatting as the blond shovels down pasta as quickly and as politely as he can. 

 

Steve slips seamlessly into the conversation, and develops an instant rapport with Doug. He has a calm, dry wit about him, and it takes Bucky a little while to realise that the two men haven't actually met before tonight. Doug gets Steve to laugh in the way that he throws his head back and puts his hand on his chest, and it's actually wonderful. 

 

Presently, Doug looks at the time and taps his watch. "Five minutes until the fireworks," he announces. Dee takes the empty plate from Steve, and they all head over to the apartment's tiny balcony. Dee opens the window, and the chilled air starts Bucky shivering. 

 

The balcony is just big enough to hold the four of them, but only if they're reasonably pressed up against one another. This stops them from being too cold, and Steve takes it upon himself to wrap his warm limbs entirely around Bucky. It's welcome affection, and Bucky takes the opportunity to snuggle in tight. 

 

Steve drops his lips close to Bucky's ear. "So I probably should've asked this before, but given you agreed it might not be the problem I think it is... you okay with fireworks?"

 

Bucky's surprised at the sensitive question. "I won't say I've _never_ taken issue... but it's the difference between seeing them and hearing them." Steve quirks one eyebrow, so Bucky continues. "If I can see them, I can tell my brain that they're fireworks and not missiles. Without the visual confirmation, it's harder." 

 

Steve nods thoughtfully. "The noise is a bit jarring for me, but it's not quite the same. I think..." he pauses, considering his words, "I think if you're here, I'll be okay, too." 

 

Denise taps Bucky on the forearm. "Can you hear it?" 

 

Bucky listens, looking out towards the park. There is a lot of light and noise coming from behind the trees, but he can hear what Denise is referring to; the countdown. 

 

" _Ten... Nine... Eight..."_

 

He gives her a small grin, before looking to Steve. Steve's already returning his gaze, lips in a beautiful smile. Anticipation tingles in Bucky's spine. 

 

"... _Seven... Six..."_

 

They hadn't actually gone so far as to discuss traditions like kissing at midnight, but by the eagerness that touches Steve's features, Bucky's pretty sure it's a given. 

 

_"... Five... Four..."_

 

Steve pulls him impossibly closer, the embrace tight and comforting. His eyes are the bluest objects that Bucky can ever recall seeing; even in the half-light of the street lamps. 

 

" _...Three... Two... One... Happy New Year!"_

 

That's the cue for the booms and reverberations of the fireworks to start, but Bucky doesn't even hear them. His fingers tighten in Steve's shirt as Steve leans forward to kiss him. 

 

The fireworks may as well be going on behind Bucky's eyelids, such is his reaction to the kiss. It's deep and heartfelt, intense without being filthy -- they're not alone, after all -- sweet and sexy and meaningful, all in one.

 

A particularly loud _boom_ forces Bucky's eyes open, to make sure he's where he thinks he is; Brooklyn in 2016-- no, _2017_ now-- with Denise and Doug and Steve. A glance confirms his friends seem to be sharing their own sweet New Year's kiss. Bucky looks out to the fireworks, but puts his head on Steve's shoulder to let him know everything's okay. Steve rests his cheek on Bucky's head, rubbing warmth into his arms. 

 

The brightly-coloured explosions in the sky are red and green and blue and white and orange. Bucky remembers loving fireworks as a kid, loving the patterns and light and even the noise. He doesn't necessarily harbour the same feelings towards them now, but with his friends and Steve right here, he can make do quite well. 

 

Strains of _Auld Lang Syne_ being sung by Brooklynites is an undercurrent to the boom of pyrotechnics. Steve begins to hum the song under his breath, and there's movement next to them. Dee squishes closer to Bucky, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. 

 

"Happy New Year, Bucky," she says, the sincere smile on her face making her cheek dimple. 

 

He returns the well-wishes, and shakes Doug's hand, as does Steve. 

 

"Well," Doug announces, "let's get back inside. It's as cold as a witch's tit out here." 

 

Steve can't stop chuckling as they head back inside. "You're so immature," Bucky remarks. 

 

With the doors shut and keeping the cold out, Doug cracks open the bottle of _Dom Perignon_ , and they toast the new year together. Bucky's not really one for champagne, but apparently, all he needed to enjoy it is the _really expensive stuff_. It tastes so much better than any other sparkling wine he's ever tried. 

 

The bottle between four people doesn't go too far, and although he likes the taste, Bucky declines a top-up. He's happy to let Dee have his share, laughing when the she gets the giggles at bubbles going up her nose. 

 

It's surprising to Bucky how quickly time flies after that. Before he knows it, they've spent nearly two hours chatting and laughing in the Park Slope apartment. Despite how pleasant the company is, Bucky feels restless for Steve's company alone; every time he looks at or touches his boyfriend, a warmth curls in his belly that is getting harder to ignore. 

 

In the end, it's Steve who takes the initiative without any kind of prompt. "It's pretty late, I'd best get my guy home." Bucky feels the skin of his cheeks heat up, but he doesn't think it's too obvious in the dim room. 

 

Steve puts an arm around Bucky's waist and continues speaking. "Thank you again so much for inviting us over," he tells their hosts seriously, "I'm so glad that Bucky didn't have to spend most of his night alone, and it's been a pleasure be here tonight." 

 

"Our pleasure," Denise responds. "We'd love to have the two of you over for dinner another night. Doug makes a mean pot roast." 

 

"That sounds amazing," Bucky admits, "count us in." 

 

Steve and Bucky bid farewell to Dee and Doug, and make their way downstairs hand in hand. Bucky slides onto Steve's bike behind him, his boyfriend's helmet securely on his head. 

 

Normally there isn't this much activity on Brooklyn streets at nearly three a.m., but it's now a new year; it's still a little bright and a little noisy, but the energy is happy and it's all relatively harmless. Bucky likes the atmosphere, but he's been itching to get Steve alone for the last hour. It makes him wrap his arms around Steve's stomach just that little bit tighter as they weave through the streets, heading for Bucky's apartment. 

 

It feels intimate, speeding along behind Steve, leaning into the corners, feeling Steve's muscles move under his clothes. When they're stopped at a set of traffic lights, a couple of tipsy guys walking on the street recognise Steve and call out "Hey, Cap!". Bucky can feel a rumbling chuckle in Steve's body as he very seriously salutes in their direction, before they drive off. 

 

All too soon they arrive at Bucky's building. Steve's taken to parking his bike in the little alley to the side of the next building where it's slightly hidden from foot traffic. 

 

Bucky and Steve take the elevator up, and once inside, Steve is beset by a tiny, meowing fuzzball. Babushka doesn't care for fireworks very much; she probably spent midnight curled up under Bucky's bed. 

 

Steve takes his leather and tuxedo jackets off again, and sits on the floor to get a full Bushka experience. 

 

Bucky takes the opportunity remove his coat and shoes, draping them over the back of the couch. He watches Steve make little cooing noises and talk softly to his cat, completely distracted by Bushka's diamante heart collar. 

 

That warm surge of affection and desire that's been welling deep in Bucky's chest all night starts to overflow. Steve is intelligent and kind and handsome and a smartass, and Bucky is so very, _very_ lucky to have him. And he feels an ache for more; more emotional closeness and a hell of a lot more physical closeness. 

 

Little things have been falling into place for him all night; the anticipation-build of Steve being at the charity ball, how stunning he looks in a tux, the casual displays of affection in front of his friends, the way he called Bucky 'my guy'... To be blunt, Steve's made him incredibly horny, and Bucky now has the mental wherewithal to want to follow through with that feeling. 

 

Steve is completely distracted by Babushka's diamante collar, and so he isn't paying too much attention when Bucky starts to take off his socks, then his sweater, and starts unbuttoning the collared shirt underneath. 

 

About the time he unbuckles his belt, Steve glances up and does a double-take. 

 

"Buck?" he inquires with bewilderment, standing and brushing the cat hair from his dress pants. 

 

"I'm ready to celebrate the new year," Bucky says slowly as he maintains eye contact with Steve, deliberately pulling his belt from the belt loops of his trousers, "and you're _definitely_ wearing too many clothes." 

 

Steve looks him square in the face and studies him for a few moments. Something in Bucky's expression assures Steve of his intent, because those large hands Bucky loves so much stray to his top button, undoing it. Dark, impossibly long lashes flutter down, and top teeth sink a little into his bottom lip, and Jesus-fucking-Christ, Bucky can't take this kind of sweet torture just standing around. 

 

He enters Steve's personal space in a few steps, taking over the task of undoing Steve's dress shirt buttons, while his boyfriend's large hands rest on the bare skin of Bucky's hips, running his thumbs in slow circles. The soft touch is enough to make Bucky shudder. 

 

In a deliberate movement, Bucky stops undoing Steve's buttons for a moment, to take one of the hands from his hip and rest it gently on the back of his neck. He has brief flash of unease, but it's gone in a second. Steve's face is bare and open, hopeful. 

 

"I've missed this, I've missed _you_ ," Bucky confesses, eyes focused on his hands, so he doesn't have to be mildly embarrassed by looking into Steve's eyes, "and you're ace at the whole 'sex' thing," he finishes. 

 

Steve lets out a little snorting laugh, his fingers massaging the back of Bucky's neck gently before they move to rest on his trapezius. "I'm a bit out of practice. Maybe you can show me what you like best?" 

 

Bucky peels Steve's shirt from his shoulders, moving into kiss Steve while his arms are trapped by the sleeves. It starts so sweet, but doesn't stay there; turning hot and heavy and just tows the edge of desperate. He nips at Steve's lips, hearing his boyfriend let out a husky moan. The sound goes straight to his cheerfully-awake anatomy. 

 

Stripping the last of Steve's shirt away, he tosses it at the sofa and drinks in the sight of Steve in front of him. 

 

It's like something out of a raunchy modelling shoot; Steve in dress pants, with a white singlet moulded to the perfect curves of his chest. Steve's eyes are trained on Bucky with a singular intensity that has his internal body temperature climbing rapidly. 

 

He responds by reaching out and grabbing a handful of the singlet. It's not like he tugs hard, or could even really move Steve with such a light grip, but nevertheless, Steve steps towards him as though Bucky's pulled firmly, cheeks faintly pink with desire. 

 

"I'm cold. You should warm me," he says, quiet and firm. He starts to walk backwards, towards his bedroom, and Steve follows as though he's subject to the strong pull of gravity. 

 

"I will do," Steve says intently, voice gravelly with desire, "whatever the fuck you want me to do." 

 

"Good answer," Bucky responds, pulling him all the way into his bedroom and kicking the door shut. 

 

***  


Some time later, in the hour or so before dawn, Bucky sits on the edge of his bed to pull some sleep pants on. Steve rolls over and catches the waistband at the back, tugging the elastic. 

 

"Don't go anywhere," he entreaties, sounding simultaneously sleepy and utterly happy. 

 

Bucky leans back and presses a kiss to Steve's bare deltoid. "Getting water and letting Babushka in," he says. 

 

Steve thinks on this before grudgingly letting Bucky's pants go. "M'kay, but get your ass back here soon." 

 

"So romantic," Bucky mocks gently, walking to the bathroom. He doesn't turn the light on, knowing exactly where his glass and the sink faucet is. He fills the glass and takes a long pull, before topping it up again. 

 

Glass on the bedside table, he then moves to the door and opens it up. Babushka, curled asleep on her _actual_ bed outside the door, opens one eye at him and judges hard enough to flay the skin from his bones. 

 

"Judge-y kitties don't get to come in," Bucky tells her, and motions to shut the door again.

 

The threat is enough for her to move; she scampers inside and hides under the bed. Bucky shrugs. As long as she's happy. 

 

He turns back to bed to find Steve sitting up just a little bit, bare chest gleaming in the lowlight, epic bedhair, and watching him with sleepy eyes. Bucky feels that rush of fondness once more. 

 

Climbing back into bed, he immediately wraps his arms around Steve's chest. Steve hugs him close and tucks the blankets around him a little tighter. The feel of firm muscles and smooth skin beneath his hands, his cheek, is so calming. 

 

"Don't go 'nywhere else," Steve slurs, fingers tightening around Bucky. 

 

"I won't, promise. Here until you let me go, whenever that might be." 

 

"Never," Steve mutters, and Bucky's only half-sure that he's actually awake. Bucky presses a soft kiss to the centre of one pectoral. He snuffles, but otherwise eyes stay closed. 

 

Bucky sighs contentedly. For the first time since November, his mental, physical and emotional states all lined up together to produce magical results. He feels content, happy, _safe._ He can't ever remember feeling these things at the very start of a year before. 

 

He should really try and sleep before the sun comes up, but Bucky just wants to revel in these moments before dawn; normally a time of insecurity and self-doubt. Today, it's a time of reflection and quiet contentment. 

 

In response to his inner thoughts, Babushka mewls and leaps up onto his pillows, taking her customary spot near the headboard, somewhere above the top of his head. 

 

Bucky smiles softly, hearing her soft purrs intermingling with the faint sounds of Steve sleeping. 

 

This is definitely the best start to a year he's ever had. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes notes notes notes [fanfare]
> 
> * Steve is a horrible troll. Of course he has bushka's collar engraved. He is way too fond of that kitty. 
> 
> * Steve wouldn'tve been away for new years' save this was a pretty big charity event. If it was just one of tony's parties, he would've begged off going entirely. As it stands, he's a sucker for getting rich people to part with their money for worthy causes, and his absence before midnight was non negotiable. He's also really glad Bucky had somewhere to be. 
> 
> * Bucky probably hasn't done much the last few NYE's. Even without Steve, he likely would've gone to dee's anyway, though maybe he would've felt a little like a third wheel (but that's probably all his own projections). He might've attempted to go somewhere else, but too many people would've been a bit of a killer, and where ISN'T there a lot of people on NYE in NYC?
> 
> * It's extra nice to be there with the anticipation that Steve is going to be there soon, though.
> 
> * Y'all know how good Steve looks in a tux, right? https://cdn1.thr.com/sites/default/files/2015/02/Chris_Evans.jpg
> 
> * Steve made excellent time to Brooklyn. He had to cross the bridge and was stopped by a Police officer on the way. But he's Cap. He just told the officer he needed to get to Park Slope before midnight and was waved through. It's good to be an Avenger :D 
> 
> * Bucky wouldn't always rule out doing some kind of Stark party just because. It'd be nice to be Steve's date, that's the big factor. But it's definitely not his first preference to do. 
> 
> * Steve brings Dom Perignon. Because of course. * Dee is so charmed by Steve calling Bucky 'his guy'. She's going to wax lyrical about this to her husband after they leave. 
> 
> * Bucky wants to show Steve that he's okay by putting Steve's hand in a place that previously made him uncomfortable. Steve doesn't want to push it by leaving his hand there or tugging at him, and so acknowledges, and then moves it away. 
> 
> * So my dudes, it's not as though I can't write smut, and it's not to say this fic will never have a proper sex scene (I honestly don't know), but i didn't really feel it was necessary at this time. Felt right to fade to black, and meet them back a little later. 
> 
> * Sleepy steve is adorable, and Bucky is a tiny bit enamored with him. That's all, my lovely friends! If you have the time and/or inclination to drop me a comment and let me know what you thought, you know I'd love it. Let's be real, here. 
> 
> Questions or comments that you wish to take off AO3 can be directed towards my tumblr. Thanks once again, fandom. You are actual gems, every single one of you. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for "Fan the Flame" by Avaaricious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637317) by [Lovesfic (me23)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/me23/pseuds/Lovesfic)




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